


Lifeblood

by Johannas_Motivational_Insults



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 240,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johanna Mason always seems to know exactly what I need to hear, and deliver it with such brutal honesty that it can’t possibly be ignored. Maybe she has known me better than anyone else all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Joniss, mid-Mockingjay to post-Mockingjay. I'm writing it as a series of what could be oneshots in chronological order, with some minor plot adjustments of course, but since we all know the story I'm pretty sure this plotline will still make sense even if it isn't especially unified. The major downside is that I tend to just write whichever segment I have the most inspiration for at the time, so I can't guarantee regular updates early on. I'll be using a mix of book and movie canon, and I hope it doesn't get too confusing. I tend to use movie versions of scenes that are in both, and then assume that additional scenes from the book happened off-screen, if that makes sense. Fair warning, I love my Joniss with angst and lots of tension (sexual or otherwise), so this may not be everyone's cup of tea. Rating is for non-graphic descriptions of violence and torture, drug use, smut, PTSD, and lots of profanity.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters. Some lines or passages are taken directly from canon or slightly altered.

“Should you really be dancing?”

I meet Prim’s concerned eyes that have just been lingering on my ribcage. I continue to move opposite her within the lines of reveling refugees and grin sheepishly, shake my head. “Probably not,” I admit, “but I’ll be fine. Really.” She still looks unconvinced, so I add, “I wasn’t going to, but Johanna pointed out that it’s the best way to piss Snow off. It’ll be great for the propo.”

“So why isn’t she dancing?” Prim asks.

“I don’t know.” We continue to step to the beat for a few moments before she pipes up again.

“You should ask her to.”

I blink in confusion. “Ask who to what?”

“Ask Johanna to dance.” I make a questioning face, and she smiles. “She’s been having a really difficult time. She’s getting better physically, but I worry about her head.” I resist the temptation to point out that Johanna was basically insane to begin with. “Finnick’s been so happy since they decided to hold the wedding, but between training and spending time with Annie, he hasn’t been around to the hospital much. Beetee’s always down in the dungeon somewhere, and Haymitch is still cranky from having to go sober – he’s no fun for anyone to be around. And you were in Two. So she hasn’t really had anyone to talk to, you know?” I glance over Prim’s shoulder at the District Seven victor. She doesn’t look particularly happy, but that’s hardly abnormal. “Other than her head doctor, and I don’t think that’s really working out.” Johanna catches my eye over Prim’s back, and I quickly avert my gaze back to my sister.

“Do you see her much?”

“Well, she’s eating in the dining hall with everyone now, but when she first got here I’d switch with the other nurses when I wasn’t already assigned to her, so I could bring her her meals. Everyone else was so busy, but since I’m not an actual nurse I have a little more time to sit with people who need it.”

I smile proudly at the young woman in front of me, still so full of compassion and so attuned to other people’s needs, even after all she’s been through. Her selflessness reminds me of Peeta. I swallow down the painful lump forming in my throat at the thought of him, and how I’ll never see that side of him again. “That was sweet of you, little duck.”

She beams at me. “I thought it was the least I could do. I saw how she tried to protect you in the Games. Holding onto you on the island, cutting out your tracker and leading the Careers away. It was really scary, but I could see what she was trying to do.” That makes one of us. “She asked about you, you know. When you were in Two.”

“Did she?” That’s quite a shock. I’d think my condition would hardly be of any importance to the older girl, considering that she had been nearly tortured to death herself. She’s not exactly the definition of friendly toward me whenever we talk, either, which is actually quite often now that we share a room in the hospital. In fact, she seems to derive quite a bit of pleasure from antagonizing me and siphoning off my painkillers.

“Yeah, she wanted to know how your head had been. I think she was worried she’d left you with permanent brain damage.”

“Not for lack of trying,” I mutter.

Prim’s face crinkles and she shakes her head. “Don’t be like that, Katniss. You know she was just trying to save you. She did save you.” My eyes drop to my feet. I do always tend to assume the worst of Johanna, probably unfairly. “She asked about your neck all the time, too. She got really angry when she heard what Peeta did to you.”

“That wasn’t Peeta,” I snap. “He’s not himself anymore.”

“I know that,” she assures me. After several steps of silence, she smiles and says, “At least we have each other.” That, I can’t argue with. I return the smile and squeeze my little sister’s hands, lock eyes with her and vow to forget about my troubles for the night. I can’t ruin what could be our last chance at a good time together before I go to the Capitol and likely get myself killed. I want to leave her with the best memories of me that I can.

My ribs really start to burn after a few dances, but I keep going for Prim’s sake, and for the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister. The fiddler stops playing for a moment to take a swig of apple cider, and I gratefully take the opportunity to catch my breath.

“You’re okay?”

I look over at Prim and nod. My lips can’t help but crack into a wide grin at the sight of her eyes gleaming with happiness. Despite the pain in my side, a warmth and security that I haven’t felt in over a year has flooded my body since I pulled her onto the dance floor. Just when I think I couldn’t feel any lighter, a small hand slips into mine and tests that theory. I peek over my left shoulder and find myself staring directly into the piercing brown eyes of my morphling leech. My heart jumps, as it instinctively does whenever Johanna is in close proximity. She did almost kill me that one time, after all.

“I meant with me, brainless.” My eyebrows furrow as I try to place this comment, then take flight as I remember the last time we’d spoken, not twenty minutes ago. “Seriously, Twelve? You really didn’t catch that?”

“I guess not,” I mumble, averting my gaze back to my sister. My sister who just so happens to be watching us and grinning giddily. She jerks her head upward and shoots me a thumbs-up, to which I roll my eyes and turn fully around. “It’s not like you offered me your hand, Mason,” I retort playfully. “How was I to know?”

Johanna says nothing, just takes my right hand in her left and cocks an eyebrow. When I don’t object, she laces our fingers together and adjusts her other hand so it rests on my hip. I comply and grasp her shoulder as she begins leading us to the sluggish melody that is just starting up. I’m vaguely reminded of the last time I slow-danced, with Plutarch at Snow’s mansion. That was just as forced, and even more uncomfortable. Johanna may have an intimidating presence, but at least she is familiar. I’m used to having her body close, sitting next to me on the beach, pinning me down as she dug in my forearm for that tracker…

I shake my head and blink to clear the jumble of emotions that well up whenever I consciously replay that moment. It was so gruesome, intimate, and quick that I’ve never managed to make much sense of it. I’m convinced that the concussion I had sustained mere seconds before that altered my perception of the scene, nearly as much as it was altered after the tracker jacker attack in my first Games. The only clear thought I’d managed then was that Peeta had just saved my life. But then Johanna had gone and saved my life in the Quell, and I’d been convinced that she was trying to kill me, even though she’d shown no signs of allying with my enemies like Peeta had. Of course, Peeta had the more affable personality of the two and wasn’t known for trickery, but I still feel the weight of shame for assuming she had betrayed me, for not understanding that she wanted me to play dead and was leading the Careers away. If Prim could see it, why couldn’t I? I really must be brainless.

“Everdeen?” My eyes jump up and catch Johanna’s amused gaze. “Quit staring at my boobs. We’re not in the elevator anymore.”

“What? No, I…” I sputter, my face and ears on fire. “I was _not_ staring at _that_. I was thinking, st-staring off into space.”

“Oh yeah?” She smirks and leans in conspiratorially. “Enjoying the view of the planets?” I drop my hand from her deltoid and turn to stalk away in exasperation, but she grips our linked hands tighter and locks her elbow, tugging me back. “Wait. Katniss, wait.” I can’t help but turn around at the sudden sincerity in her tone, though I do shoot her an unamused glower to compensate. “I’m just messing with you. We all do it, you know? You’re fun to tease.” I try to deepen my glare, but must fail because Johanna just snorts mockingly. “At least I’m not kissing you uninvited like Chaff did. Stay and dance.” I don’t move. “Come on,” she urges, her smirk beginning to resurface. Her eyes somehow manage to both twinkle and pout at the same time, and somewhere deep in my bones I know that I’ll never be able to say no to that face. Still, I feign reluctance as I place my hand on her upper arm again.

“If you insist,” I sigh overdramatically. Her hand returns to its home on my hip, fingers tracing my waist on the way, and my eyes flutter shut as I let out a small breath of relief. I take a moment to recollect myself before daring to catch Johanna’s eye again. She’s watching me with narrowed, inquisitive eyes, but says nothing. “I must say, though,” I start, eager to deflect, “Chaff kissing me was hardly the most shocking moment of that evening.”

“Well,” she purrs, pulling me closer to whisper in my ear, “I do like to make an impression.”

“Oh, trust me, you have that down pat. A strip tease is nothing compared to basically cussing out the president on national television.”

“I’m really proud of that one, actually,” she grins as the final strains of the tune sound. I scan the floor in an attempt to find Prim again, but can’t catch sight of her. I only then notice that the dance floor had cleared out but for a few couples during the slow interlude. I turn back to Johanna, not really sure how to extricate myself from her grasp or even if I want to. She seems just as paralyzed as I feel until spirited notes burst from the fiddle yet again. The dance floor springs back to life, as do my partner’s eyes. “Hey, Twelve, is this a song where you partner off individually?”

“It can be. Why,” I drawl, “can’t bear to leave me just yet?” I wink, surprising myself but apparently not fazing Johanna. Then again, she is known across Panem for her acting skills.

“Please,” she groans,” I can’t wait. But Finnick is tied up with Annie and I doubt anybody else here will dance with me, so…” She moves her hand from my hip to my shoulder and runs it softly down my arm in a move that makes me shudder. “…I guess I’m stuck with you.” Her hand finds mine on her shoulder and entwines our fingers. “Now, girl on fire,” she intones softly, though her gaze is an intense as ever, “do you know any moves?”

“Uh…” I trail off, blinking down to the floor. “Depends on what kind?”

“Dance moves, you pervert.”

“Who’s the pervert?” I object, snapping my eyes back up to meet hers. “I just don’t know what kind of dance moves you’re talking about.”

“Basic freeform partnered stuff,” she grins at my frustration. “Duh, brainless. Like arches and loops and hand changes.”

“Oh,” I mumble, flushing again. “Yeah, I guess.”

We manage to execute a few moves cleanly before colliding under an arch that Johanna has just created with our arms. “No no no, brainless,” she chides, “pay attention. That arch was for me.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” I protest. She responds too calmly, with reassuring eyes and a steady voice.

“You have to listen to what my body is telling yours.” I’m not sure if the shiver that runs through me is due to her words or the way she runs her thumbs lightly over mine just after she utters them. As much as she claims I’m not paying attention to her touch, she’s finding a way to make me hyperaware of every sensation. It’s unnerving, to say the least, and not something I’m at all used to.

“Here, I’ll show you the difference,” she offers. Johanna lifts her left arm to create an arch, then pulls my left across her body to guide me under the arch before dropping that hand. After looping me back and taking me by both hands again, she raises her eyebrows in a silent command to pay attention. This time when she creates the arch, she pulls my left hand down and away from it in an exaggerated illustration of holding me still.

“Ohhh,” I say as she drops my hand and moves through the arch herself. She loops me back into her grasp and cocks an eyebrow. “Yes, I get it now.”

She tests me by leading us into a few arches meant for either one of us, and I guess I pass because she smiles up at me and nods. “Very good, Mockingjay. Maybe we’re all wrong about you.”

I squint at her as she continues to lead us in and out of those familiar moves and shift us along the floor. “You mean about me being so pure or whatever? That thing with Chaff and Finnick?”

“No,” Johanna chuckles lowly, genuinely, a far cry from her signature high-pitched sarcastic laugh. “That’s not what I meant, though if you care to disprove that I’m sure no one would complain.” I halt my feet and level what is supposed to be a menacing scowl at her, but it must not look very threatening because her grin is threatening to crack her chapped lips open. “Wow, lighten up, Everdeen.”

“Whatever.” She starts to move us again and I don’t resist, despite my continued irritation. “So then what did you mean, _Mason_?”

“Haymitch tells me listening is not one of your fortés,” she explains dryly, prompting me to roll my eyes. “Not that I didn’t know that from experience. You didn’t stay down like I told you to in the arena.” That moment just keeps coming up tonight. I shift under her gaze.

“If I had, none of us would have escaped,” I point out. “Beetee was out cold by then and wouldn’t have been able to disable the force field.” Johanna grunts and awards me a curt nod of assent. When her eyes lock with mine again, I add, “I follow my instincts.”

I’ve never seen Johanna Mason hesitate, but I could swear she does for half a second before lifting my hands to rest on her shoulders. She moves both of her hands to my waist this time, drawing me half a step closer. My stomach flips and I feel poised to run from impending danger, but some part of me must enjoy this horrible feeling because I unconsciously loop my hands around her neck instead.

“That’s worked out really well for you,” she murmurs, beginning to drag the fingers of her right hand lightly up my stomach. I would protest verbally, but my throat has gone dry and my brain seems to have lost its ability to form words. Instead I can only twitch and gasp at the tickling sensation. I do finally manage to glare at her, but as she gently cups the bottom of my ribcage, she looks up at me with such an intensity that I forget I am annoyed. In fact, I forget everything. Everything except for where I’ve felt the fledgling warmth in my stomach before. The beach. Peeta. Yes, if she were Peeta or Gale, I’d swear she was about to kiss me. But she is neither.

“Up until you got yourself shot,” she growls in a tone that rides the line between playful and angry, punctuating this with a firm prod to my bruised ribs. I recoil and cry out in pain, my forearms flying off her shoulders and into a defensive position in front of me. It is not necessary, as Johanna now seems content to simply stare me down, jaw tight and cheeks aflame. Her unexplained anger only stokes my own. My fists and face clench as I double over in agony. 

“Fuck, Johanna!” If the nearby dancers hadn’t been alerted to the situation by my initial reaction, they are certainly paying attention now; a number of pairs have turned their heads our way, and a small group has even stopped dancing entirely to observe the apparently impending showdown from a safe distance. But as quickly as it seemed to spring up and possess her, Johanna’s anger appears to evaporate into a fit of laughter… high-pitched, sarcastic laughter. Now knowing the difference, I eye her warily and keep my arms safely between her and my ribcage.

“Maybe not so pure after all, eh?” I flip her off with the hand that’s not clutching my side, but as I should have expected, this only widens her smile. 

“Jo…” Finnick appears at her side and cautiously grasps her biceps from behind. “Don’t make me dunk you like last time.”

“Wow.” My eyes widen at the girl’s sudden hard and disbelieving tone as she swivels to face her friend. “Not funny, Finnick.” Something registers in his face, and he swiftly pulls his hands back in surrender. He opens his mouth to reply, but she cuts him off. “I swear to god, you’re just as brainless as the kid sometimes.” This offends me on multiple levels, but I’m too preoccupied with trying not to vomit or faint to tell her off.

“Sorry,” he mumbles contritely. “Really. But please, don’t make me forcibly remove one of you. It’s my wedding.”

“I’m fine!” She protests. “We’re fine.” She tries to place a hand on my shoulder to assure him of this, but I swat it away.

“Clearly.” The bronze-haired beauty gives us one more wary glance before returning to his wife.

Johanna breathes out forcefully and emphatically cracks her neck, much like I remember her doing on the beach shortly after that traumatizing jabberjay incident that still haunts my nightmares. I swallow nervously as she looks down and catches my eye. “Can you stand?” she asks resignedly.

I narrow my eyes and shake my head in disbelief. “What, are you gonna patch me up now? Kiss it all better?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” she deadpans.

I groan in frustration, drawing another chuckle out of her. I wince as I laboriously straighten up to regain my natural height advantage. “What the hell is your problem?” 

“Do you want the whole list, or just the highlights?” Fair enough, it was a stupid question to ask another victor, especially her. Between her claim of having no one left she loves and Finnick’s tales of Capitol exploitation under duress, not to mention my own memories of her first games and her physical condition upon her arrival in Thirteen, I have some pretty good ideas. I shake my head softly in answer, and my eyes must betray where my mind has just been because she interjects, “Don’t even start, Everdeen. I’m not one of your precious helpless victims you feel the need to risk your life for. I don’t need saving.”

“Fine,” I retort. 

“Good,” she snaps. Our eyes continue to bore into each other’s for a few moments. Hers slowly lose their fire, but still she doesn’t look away. Neither do I, partly because I refuse to lose one more battle with her and partly because I don’t think I could drag my eyes away even if I wanted to. She wets and then bites a corner of her lower lip, drags it slowly out of her teeth as I feel my jaw slacken. Johanna suddenly blinks hard and gives her head a slight shake. Her eyes study me curiously for a few seconds before they leave mine and dart around the room. I follow them automatically and am relieved to see we aren’t the center of attention anymore, not to mention relieved to be released from that staring contest. Wait, did I actually just win a battle of wills against Johanna Mason? Next thing I know, I’ll be hurling curse words and insults indiscriminately and prancing around naked.

“Well, dear Miss Everdeen,” she suddenly inflects in a Capitol accent, drawing my gaze back to her, “I think I shall retire from the dance floor for the evening. I fear that all these common district folk may infect me with their horrendous fashion sense and lowbrow taste in music.”

I am already grinning stupidly by the time she finishes, and fail to mask it with my hand in time. I clear my throat and run my fingers down and off my jaw, pulling my smile with them. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but…” There is no need to finish that sentence verbally; I simply raise my eyebrows.

Johanna smirks and swoops down into a dramatic curtsey. “As always, darling Mockingjay,” she says in her normal, albeit extremely sarcastic voice. She reaches for my hand, but I don’t swat her away this time. She grasps under my fingers and brings my hand to her face, dusts her lips over my knuckles. Her eyes refuse to leave mine this time, and have taken on a particular quality that I don’t exactly recognize, but that makes my stomach clench and my knees wobble. She’s kind of making me hate her more every second. “Let’s do it again sometime.” She stands and eyes me for a second longer, lightly squeezing my fingers. Then she abruptly drops my hand and sashays toward the edge of the room, swaying her hips as she somehow manages to gracefully bump her way through the crowd. I gape at her retreating form with an expression that is probably very similar to the one I wore when she first said those words to me.

“Earth to Katniss.”

“Huh?” I blink up to see Gale standing not a foot away, concern etched on his face.

“I said, ‘What did Johanna want?’” I stare after the smaller girl as she sidles up to Haymitch and Effie near the exit. She glances back at me and smirks when she catches me still gawking. As she throws me a wink, I ponder the fact that Gale has basically just asked one of the deep, existential questions of the universe. I do have an answer for it on a more superficial level, however.

“To insult, humilate, and injure me. You know, the usual.”

***

I was sorely tempted to find a hiding place to disappear into after my latest encounter with Peeta, but the screaming pain in my ribs drew me back to my hospital bed. More specifically, my morphling drip. I gingerly crawled into bed not long after midnight, adjusted it to the semi-sitting position that seems to minimize the burning in my side, and punched in my access code to self-administer the drug. After a few impatient minutes of feeling lighter but still in far too much pain, I entered the code I’d once spied a nurse using to access the administrative functions, including dosage per minute. I probably turned it up to an unsafe level, but all that mattered at that moment were the aches in my ribs and my heart, both of which I just needed to stop. I didn’t really care if I accidentally overdosed, anyway.

It is now past twelve-thirty, and I’m feeling less pain but still plenty of confusion. I don’t understand why I’m so angry with Peeta or why his words cut so deeply, but I also don’t understand why he is so judgmental of my motives. Doesn’t he realize that everything I’ve done has been to protect him or my family? Sure, that family includes Gale, but he acknowledged that on the beach with his locket of pictures. At the time, he seemed perfectly happy to give up his own life to ensure my safe return to them, despite my own wishes to save him. He was so considerate then, so understanding of the position I was in and the fact that I was only trying to keep all my loved ones, including him, from getting hurt. Of course, whenever I try to keep someone from getting hurt, I only end hurting more people, starting wars, things like that. But at least Peeta didn’t doubt my good intentions back then. What has changed?

Everything has changed, of course. He’s been tortured, hijacked. He’s been brainwashed into this suspicion of me. His words echo in my head. I must have loved you a lot. I must have. Have. I swallow and blink back tears, then roll my head to the side to study the bag of morphling hanging only feet away. I briefly consider dialing it up even higher in hopes of blocking out any feelings completely, but then my eyes move past it to the empty bed between me and the door. No, I have to control myself, or I’ll end up siphoning morphling from unconscious patients like some kind of addict. As I move my head back and refocus my eyes on the ceiling, I determine resignedly that I’ll just have to live with these tortured thoughts. I catch that last thought and suddenly want to slap myself. I have to stop using that word; it only cheapens the horrors that Peeta and Johanna must have endured. No wonder they both hate me.

“Hey.” Johanna’s voice jerks me from my thoughts, and I probably would have jumped were it not for the sedating drug coursing through my bloodstream. She’s already closed the door behind her and is standing at the foot of her bed. Either she has retained her ability to move stealthily or I am much less lucid than I realize.

I quickly rub my eyes to hide the evidence of my distress and fake a yawn to disguise the reason for that action. “Hey.” 

She steps closer to peer at me in the dim light of the emergency lamps. “You look like shit,” she remarks casually.

“Aw, thanks,” I jeer, “you too.” I’m hardly surprised when she grins in response to that. It’s like insults are compliments to her. “Where have you been?”

“Wandering the halls. Couldn’t sleep.” She eyes up my IV, unconsciously running her thumb over the inside of her left elbow. Of course. She couldn’t use it when I wasn’t in the room. If a nurse or doctor walked in and she was on my bed and the drip was functional, she couldn’t just pop the needle back into my socket and pretend it had only been a social visit. Even if she wanted to try to take a hit alone, I haven’t given her my code; I’m afraid to let her use unsupervised. She’s been borrowing from me regularly since I got back, and it’s been a good ten hours since she was last hooked up to the drip. No wonder she can’t sleep. But given my current condition and how it came to be, I don’t feel all that much sympathy for the other girl. 

“Sorry,” I snark, “can’t share tonight, need all I can get. Some mentally disoriented asshole assaulted me at the wedding and aggravated my injury.”

I guess she doesn’t catch the touch of humor in my voice, because her eyes briefly widen in surprise before narrowing in anger. She abruptly whips the curtain between our beds shut. “Bitch,” I barely hear her mutter before the distinct sound of her bellyflopping onto the bed echoes through the room.

I sigh and reevaluate my actions and motives. She completely deserved that earful for attacking me for no apparent reason, but in all honesty, I expected her to demand the drug anyway or at least respond in kind. She is so difficult to pin down. Understand, that is. Although if my memories from the training center are correct, that is also true in another sense. Johanna grunts as she adjusts her positioning on her bed, snapping me back to the present. Yes, Prim is right. Johanna has been through a lot and hasn’t had anyone to lean on for support, not that she would ever admit to needing it. I should at least try to fill that void in any way that I can.

“Johanna?” I call across the curtain. I’m met with silence, so I try another tactic. “Johanna Fucking Mason.”

“What?” she grouches, her voice muffled in her pillow.

“Just come on,” I grumble. “I’ve got plenty.” As I hear her practically scampering off the bed, I struggle to detach the needle from my socket.

Johanna rounds the curtain and first looks at the needle I’m just managing to extract, then at my face. She suddenly takes two big steps toward me and bends down to look me dead in the eye, then just as quickly stands back up and turns her attention to the control pad of the morphling drip. “Shit, Twelve, you’re all doped up!” She takes the needle from my hand, something vaguely resembling concern crossing her features. “When did they increase your dose?” She winces and hisses as she pokes the needle directly into the crook of her elbow.

“Hey, where’d your socket go?”

“What, you didn’t notice it was gone earlier?” I shake my head. “Typical. As for my socket, the doctors removed it this afternoon after ‘fully weaning me off the drug.’”

She sighs in relief as the morphling starts to take effect, and eases herself down onto the side of my bed. I ignore the kernel of guilt I feel over perhaps hindering her recovery. She’s risked her own life in attempts to save mine at least twice, and this may be the only way I’ll ever get to repay that debt in a way she will recognize. She’d be just as grateful to me and assured of my goodwill over denying her my morphling supply as I was right after she knocked me halfway unconscious and sliced my arm open. My good intentions would not sway her opinion on the issue. Long-term rewards don’t matter much to victors.

“Fuck,” Johanna exhales, drawing out the syllable as she sinks backward to loll across my thighs. I suddenly feel much less relaxed, despite the drug’s influence. That nugget of fire is back in my stomach, much to my annoyance. The older girl lets her head and shoulders droop off the side of my bed, and the arching of her back drags her shirt up several inches. A thin strip of skin peeks out, beckoning my eyes, and my stomach clenches as the heat begins to build against my will. When a soft, breathy moan escapes Johanna’s lips, the spasms and fire suddenly strike about eight inches lower. I stare down at my midsection in disbelief. This is beyond messed up – I must have overdosed after all. The sensation only increases as she turns onto her left side to face me, rolling onto my pelvis in the process. I struggle to keep my face neutral as she raises her head to regain eye contact.

“Hey,” says Johanna, “you never answered my question.”

I swallow and manage to get out, “Which one?”

“When did the doctors increase your dosage, brainless?”

“They didn’t,” I admit. “I peeked and saw the code the nurse was punching in to gain access. A few days ago.”

“What? And you didn’t let me use it to get stronger doses?” I shrug. “I could have been in and out of here in a flash each time if I got it stronger. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe because I like making you wait.” She shoots me a look and I add, “Maybe because I don’t want you to turn into one of those freaks from Six, either.” Maybe because some masochistic part of me sort of enjoys her company, too. But I’m not about to tell her that.

“I told you,” she insists, “I don’t need saving.”

I roll my eyes and lean forward a touch, bracing my weight on my hands, despite the stab of pain that the morphling can only dull. “You know, for the record,” I declare, “you don’t strike me as helpless. Never have. Not even in your first Games.” She raises her eyebrows. “You didn’t fool me with your crying, wimpy, ‘oh I can’t even handle an axe when I’m from Seven’ act.”

Johanna grins at my sarcastic falsetto and shrugs. “Fooled everyone else, didn’t it?” When I don’t reply, she narrows her eyes and prods, “What gave it away?”

“Your eyes betrayed you,” I state assuredly. She squints further, and I continue, “There was fire there. You were pissed and you weren’t going to go down without a fight.” I hardly notice myself mumble, “I recognized so much of myself in you.” Her expression is suddenly unreadable, so I quickly add, “So, no, you didn’t fool me. Not for a second.”

“Well then I guess I should be grateful you didn’t get reaped that year,” she teases. The mental image of my malnourished 13 year-old self, just finding my confidence to operate as an adult and hardly the archery expert I was three years later, having to face off against a small but fully developed, underfed yet decently muscled, completely vicious lumberjack makes me think that I should be the grateful one. But, of course, that is what she is implying; I should have caught that right away.

I can’t help but crack a wry smile when I nod, a small snort escaping from my nose. “Can you imagine?” I snigger. “That’d hardly be a fair fight.”

Half of her mouth arcs up to return the smile. “Please, your picture would have been in the sky long before I started killing anyone.” The intended joke has just the opposite effect, wiping the levity from our faces. I slump back against the angled portion of the bed and she looks down at my stomach. “You were just a kid,” she adds in a small voice.

“Well,” I grumble, reminded of one of the many insults she’d hurled at me on the dance floor, “according to you, I still am.”

“No, Everdeen,” she drawls, the drug seeping into her voice. She points at me and adds with a hint of a smirk, “You a woman. You just need a lot of supervision.” I give her a dirty look and she shakes her head, her expression drooping again. “You’re not a kid. You lost that privilege when you got reaped.”

“I lost it long before that.” Johanna arches a questioning eyebrow, but I blink away. I don’t want to talk about my parents right now.

My attention is pulled back to her by the sound of a breathy grunt, and I see she has pulled the needle back out of her arm. “Here,” she murmurs, extending it in my direction, “I think you might need this more than I do.”

“No way.” I shake my head and raise a palm to reject the offer. “That’s not sterile now.”

“What,” she taunts, “you gonna tell the nurses you need a new needle because you let me steal your morphling?” A corner of my mouth twitches in acknowledgement. “Besides, Twelve, what kind of blood-borne diseases do you think I have?”

“That depends on how often you like to take all your clothes off in front of complete strangers,” I deadpan.

Johanna barks out a laugh, falling back onto my thighs and clutching her stomach. I can’t stop myself from smiling in satisfaction at getting another genuine laugh out of her, one that has gone on for several seconds now. That might just be the drug’s influence, though.

“Oh my god, Katniss.” She rolls up onto my pelvis again and I have to resist the urge to shift my body under her weight, shift my eyes under her gaze. “I think…” She points the needle directly at me, her eyes a touch unfocused. “…I think I like you.” Well, I’ll admit I definitely never expected those words to fall from Johanna’s lips. My throat is suddenly dry, and all of my body hair must be standing on end. After all, a drugged-up woman with a history of injuring me is inches away from rolling onto my wounded ribs or impaling me with a dirty needle.

“Here, just give me the damn drip,” I mutter. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she objects, but hands it over before collapsing prone on my hips with a sleepy grunt. I seriously cannot take the pressure of her weight anymore.

“Johanna.” I elbow her on my way to plug the needle back into my socket, but she only groans in protest. “Johanna, I need you to move. You’re squishing me.” She stays silent this time. I roll my eyes as I finish reattaching the drip, and then move both hands to give her a firm shake. “Seriously, get off!”

“Mmm,” she mumbles, “if only it were that easy.” It takes me a moment to understand the joke, but when I do, I instantly feel my cheeks flare up.

“Pervert.” I duck my chin to hide the blush now creeping down my neck. “Here, just-” Despite her grunts of objection and what feels like spikes being driven into my side, I roll and rotate the girl so most of her weight is on the edge of the bed or over my legs. I inch myself to the left for about a foot, wincing at another strike of pain, before pulling her back onto her stomach beside me.

Johanna must be as uncomfortable as she looks, with her back awkwardly extended and her face driven into the mattress, because she finally moves of her own accord. She turns over and scoots up to sit beside me. “You’re no fun,” she grumbles with surprising clarity. I turn to glare incredulously at the woman.

“Are you seriously still lucid right now?” She places a hand over her mouth in a mock ‘oops’ gesture. I could punch her. I do punch her.

“Ouch!” She rubs her arm gingerly, but honestly looks more impressed than upset.

“That really hurt my ribs, you asshole! If I can’t move tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

“You should be blaming me anyway,” she points out with a grin. I barely have time to sigh in exasperation before she pinches the skin above my hip. I slap her hand away forcefully and turn to bellow in her face.

“Will you fucking stop?” Her expression drops, as though she only now registered my seriousness. And this idiot calls me brainless. “I have had it, okay? I can’t take any more abuse tonight! Just…” I fall back against the bed and let out a deep sigh. “Just lay off me, for once in your life. I can’t deal with this right now.”

I don’t meet her gaze, but I can feel Johanna’s eyes analyzing me. “What’s wrong?” she finally asks.

“Nothing!” I snap, turning my head away from her and wishing I could turn the rest of me too. But, no thanks to her, I can’t lie on that side.

“Is he still that bad?”

I turn back to face her, my eyes and mouth wide with shock. “How did you-”

“I saw you talking to Haymitch after they wheeled his cake out,” she explains. “When you weren’t back here after the filming ended, I put two and two together.”

“Oh.” Half of the reason I’d doped myself up was the hope that I could forget about Peeta for the night, but I don’t think Johanna is going to let that happen. She is the biggest pain in the butt. Not to mention the ribs. And the head.

“So how is he?” she asks again. I want to be mad at her, but she seems genuinely concerned.

“What do you care about Peeta?” I deflect. “You guys only kept him alive in the arena so I wouldn’t go running off on my own.”

“Not true.” She shakes her head. “Peeta could have been a great asset for the rebellion with or without you. He has a way with words that can convince the masses to think anything, do anything.” So it turns out I was still correct when I sussed that out myself during the Quell, when I realized that she and Finnick were protecting him. I just missed the pieces of the puzzle that involved their protection of me, and our rescue. So, most of it. “Anyway,” she explains, “we had cells next to each other in the Capitol. His screams woke me up at night.” She blinks down to her hands in her lap. “They still do.”

My chest and abdomen constrict painfully, for Johanna and for Peeta. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t fix this. Maybe if she were Peeta or Gale, I would plant a kiss on her lips because it’s all I could think of to appease the suffering for a moment. Gale is right – I do have a habit of doing that. But I am really not in a kissing mood right now, and if I did kiss her she would probably slap me anyway. I decide that the next best thing I can do is answer her question honestly.

“Well, he did the cake, and Haymitch said they had a conversation and he seemed almost normal. He’s functional.” Johanna looks up and motions for me to continue. I oblige begrudgingly. “He doesn’t think I’m a mutt anymore.” I squeeze my eyes shut at the feeling of my stomach turning painfully. My voice cracks as I add, “He doesn’t think I’m much of anything anymore.” I open my eyes expecting to see Johanna wearing a mocking expression, expecting to hear her taunting me for my weakness. To my surprise, she merely looks pensive and maybe a touch concerned, but I’m not sure whether that’s for me or for Peeta.

“What makes you think that?” she prods.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply sarcastically, “maybe how he called me a piece of work and accused me of faking my feelings for him.”

“If you hadn’t, he’d be dead, brainless,” Johanna points out. “So you hurt his feelings. Boo-fuckity-hoo. I gave you a concussion and a nasty scar, but you got out alive and that’s what’s important. It’s the same for him. The collateral damage doesn’t matter in the end. Muffin Man lived to bake another cake and he should be grateful to you, if anything.”

“Thank you!” I state emphatically. “I’m glad someone else sees it that way.” A ghost of a smile appears on Johanna’s lips, and I try to return it, but my face quickly falls. “The thing is, he’s not wrong. Maybe what the Capitol did was actually the opposite of brainwashing.” I choke out a laugh. “I guess he can finally see me for who I really am. I’m violent, distrustful, manipulative-”

“Stop.” Since when do I listen to Johanna Mason? In fact, since when do I take orders from anyone? Apparently, right now. She says the word quietly, but seriously. I meet her hard gaze, and could probably not say another word even if I tried. “That’s not who you are, Katniss.” I shake my head. “I’m serious.”

“It’s true, though,” I contend. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she insists. “All of those words describe you at times, sure. But they don’t define you, and there are so many other ones you missed. Compassionate. Moral. Brave. Stupid.” I side-eye her at that last adjective, and she chuckles, “You wanted me to be honest.”

I exhale and let my head loll to the side and rest against the bed, refusing to lose eye contact despite my drooping eyelids. The morphling is really starting to kick in again. “Since when do you even like me?” I ask wearily.

“Didn’t I just tell you I like you? Like not even five minutes ago, brainless?”

“Yeah,” I snort, “you like me for my morphling.”

Johanna glances from my face to the needle in my arm, and back again. “Actually, I don’t really like you at all,” she says decidedly. I think I see a hint of a smile peeking through her mask, but if there was, she hides it again just as quickly. “I’m just not blind,” she adds. “I wouldn’t have protected you with my life if you weren’t valuable.” Of course I am valuable to the revolution, but I’m not sure if that’s all she meant. I’m kind of afraid to ask. Mostly because I’m afraid that that is all she meant, and I’m sick of being a symbol but not a person.

“Well,” I grumble, shifting on the bed, “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.” She waits until I turn back to her before nodding, looking intently into my eyes.

“It was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason why Johanna jabbed Katniss during the dancing, by the way. She was not (just) being a bitch. We will get to that later.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I have been attempting to write using a voice/narration style that's similar to the books, just with more physical description and perhaps at a slightly higher level of diction, so I'd especially appreciate reviews that mention if it still sounds like Katniss. I'll try to get the next chapter up within the next few weeks, I just have to decide exactly what's going in it first. And I'm super anal about my writing, so I won't post it until I love it.


	2. Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did post a warning earlier about the angst and (sexual and/or non-sexual) tension, right? Right. Like I said, it might not be everyone's cup of tea. (But it's still not as depressing as Mockingjay. It's an angsty rewrite of an angsty book, what can I say?)

"Fuck you. Fuck you and your goddamn ribs, you fucking pussy. Can’t even run a fucking mile, and have to take me down with you. Fucking selfish prick.” I merely close my eyes and sigh in response to this latest outburst. I don’t have the energy to be indignant anymore. “When I start puking,” Johanna threatens, “I’m gonna make sure it’s all over you.”

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” I scoff. “You are. You’re one nasty sack of shit, Everdeen.”

“At least I’m not the one who’s all pale and clammy and shivering.”

“At least I’m not the one who’s about to be covered in puke.”

We’ve been going on like this for several hours by now. Honestly, it might be all that’s keeping us in halfway decent spirits. If we weren’t trading verbal barbs, we’d probably both be crying. I don’t think I’ve ever felt stronger pain than this, not even when I took Thread’s whip to the face. Johanna may not be in the same physical pain, but given how miserable Haymitch has been since being forced into sobriety, I’m sure withdrawal is no picnic either. I hear her get up, and start to move to defend myself, but then let out a yelp and have to drop back down on the bed. Lying there is painful enough. Movement is excruciating. Johanna’s standing over me now, and I resign myself to the fact that I’m at the mercy of her tongue and fists and stomach contents.

“Are you actually going to puke on me?” I ask, raising a wary eyebrow.

“No,” she says, pulling over one of the chairs that live up against the wall between our beds, so that she can sit down close by without having to jostle me. How oddly considerate of her. “I’m in that horrible state where I just know I’d feel so much better if I could puke, but I can’t.” She slumps down into the chair and lets out a heavy sigh. “Hopefully later.”

“And hopefully not on me.”

“You deserve it, you fucking bitch,” she growls. “This is all your fault.”

“It’s kind of your fault, actually,” I argue. “If you hadn’t gone and aggravated my ribs, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to get this treatment done. And then you’d still have your precious morphling.”

“Please,” she scoffs, “I barely touched you. You weren’t any worse off by a couple days later. I know that because you came running down here bitching about how you didn’t get to go to the bloody Capitol because you blew off your training. You could move and yell just fine, as I recall.”

“Well maybe I would have been just better enough not to need it.” I can hear the edge seeping back into my voice. I guess I do have the energy to be pissed off after all.

“Bullshit.” Johanna shakes her head firmly. “York said they’d take a month to heal without it based on your injury. Not my fault.”

“It was still totally uncalled for,” I fume.

“It was for your own good,” she dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “You needed some sense poked into you.” What the hell? This girl’s logic is beyond me. But somehow, I still dislike feeling like I’ve disappointed her.

“I don’t understand,” I groan in frustration, meeting her eye earnestly. “Why were you so mad at me in the first place?”

She lets out this huge exasperated sigh, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and gripes, “Because you’re an idiot and you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep running into dangerous situations like you did in Two.”

“I don’t see how that’s your problem.”

I didn’t mean for that to be an insult, but Johanna’s face tells me that I might as well have just slapped her. I didn’t know before now that I was capable of hurting Johanna Mason’s feelings. I wasn’t even sure she had any. She opens her mouth to speak, but catches herself before any words spill out. She screws her eyes shut and shakes her head sharply. “It’s everybody’s problem, brainless. Don’t you listen to a word I say? It’s everybody’s job to keep you alive.” I do listen to her words. I remember this as the reason she gave for hating me when I first woke up after being shot, other than just finding me to be generally annoying. But I am learning to listen to her body too now, and it is abundantly clear from the set of her jaw and the darkness in her eyes that there is something she is not telling me.

I gingerly move my left arm so I can reach out to lay a comforting hand on her, but she is too far away, so I can do nothing but drop it limply off the bed. “I’m sorry, Johanna.”

“No, you’re not.” Her voice is oddly soft as she says this, and my brow automatically furrows. “You can’t be sorry if you don’t understand what it is you’re sorry for.”

“You’re right,” I admit, “I don’t understand. That wasn’t meant to be offensive, you know. Care to explain?”

She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “If you can’t work that out for yourself, Mockingjay,” she mumbles forlornly, “you’re even more brainless than I thought.” Her thumb starts rubbing the crook of her left elbow, and I am again swamped with guilt. What else is new?

“Johanna.” She looks up cautiously, and I raise a beckoning finger. “Give me your arm.”

She narrows her eyes, but scoots the chair a bit closer. “Last time someone said that to me, he injected a fucking tracker,” she says with a hint of trepidation.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure her. “Come closer.” She obeys, pulling the chair so her shins are pressed up against the frame of the hospital bed, and then lays her right arm across my stomach. “The other one, brainless,” I say without thinking. She looks just as surprised as I am at my words, but lets it go.

“Force of habit,” she explains while switching arms. I grasp her forearm with my right hand and move my left to her elbow. When my thumb begins massaging the spot hers just left, I hear a sharp intake of breath and look back to Johanna’s face. I must have really caught her off guard, because vulnerability and surprise are plastered all over it, and I could swear she’s about to start crying. She blinks a few times and forces out a wry smile. “I didn’t even realize I was doing that,” she admits. I nod and silently continue the movement. Johanna eventually drops her head so her forehead is resting on the edge of the bed, and exhales deeply. I run my right hand down to meet her fingers and interlock them with my own. I give her hand a gentle squeeze and keep rubbing. I don’t know how long this goes on for, but it’s a lot more enjoyable than trading insults from across the room, so I’m in no hurry to stop. It’s distracting me from my own pain, anyway.

“I’m sorry you’re having to go through this,” I finally say, after what feels kind of like seconds and kind of like hours. “Really.” Johanna moves her right forearm onto the bed and raises her head to rest her chin on it and look me in the eye. I was right – there are a few glistening streaks down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have kept giving it to you,” I lament. “I should’ve just let the doctors do their thing and wean you off of it slowly. It wouldn’t have been this bad.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “That part isn’t your fault. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, brainless.” I smile, and she attempts to do the same. She is right, of course. I shouldn’t blame myself for something I had no control over, though I know I do that all the time.

“I know,” I say. “And I knew I had no right to refuse given all that had happened.” I consider stopping here, but decide to admit, “And I didn’t want you to hate me.” Johanna smiles easily this time, and I start to think that maybe we’re in for a sappy moment. Until she speaks again, that is.

“Too late,” she teases, a giant smirk present on her lips and even infiltrating her eyes. Well, maybe this is still a sappy moment by our standards. I can’t help but snort out a laugh, but then instantly cringe and moan at the pain I just caused myself, my left hand shooting over to cradle my sore spot. Johanna shakes her hand free and brings it to rest on top of mine. “Are you okay?” she asks earnestly.

“Peachy, Seven,” I grunt.

She grins again. “That’s my girl.” I hold her gaze for a moment, and feel a swell of pride despite my physical discomfort. Her eyes look much less pained, at least for the time being. I did that. She breaks eye contact to look past me at the clock on my bedside table, and then abruptly sits up straighter. “We’ve got to get going.”

“Seriously?” I groan.

“Yeah, we’re due in the dining hall in fifteen.” The lights suddenly flick on, as if to prove her point. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my face with my hands. It can’t be morning yet.

“Are you actually capable of eating?” I mumble past my palms.

“I’m going to try,” she declares, and I hear her stand up and move the chair back to its usual spot. “I can’t work out on an empty stomach. And neither can you.” I crack open my eyes to see that she is standing over me again. “Get up,” she orders brusquely. When I don’t move, she tosses my covers aside, grabs my legs, and pulls them over the side of the bed so my feet land on the floor. I hardly have time to groan in protest. She stands back up, impossibly close, and looks me dead in the eye. I gulp automatically, although she really would look much more intimidating if she weren’t a sick greenish color and shaking like a leaf. “Come on,” she urges me, “we have to get to training.”

“I don't think I can do it,” I confess.

“You can do it. We both can. We're victors, remember? We're the ones who can survive anything they throw at us,” she snarls at me. She disappears behind the half-drawn curtain to access the clothes in her bedside table, and is probably mostly dressed by the time I have made my way around my bed and grabbed my own clothes. I am able to lift my arms to remove my hospital gown, but it hurts like hell. I pull on a bra and t-shirt, but when I try to bend over to put underwear on, I let out a wail of pain before I even reach halfway down my shins.

“You okay?” Johanna pulls back the curtain and catches an eyeful of me bent over my naked lower half. I immediately cover my groin with my hands and glare at her. I am honestly surprised that she hadn’t whipped the curtain back earlier and given me a free show of herself changing, since that seems to be her style, but I guess shock value isn’t her biggest concern right now. She looks like she’s trying not to laugh for a second, but then eyes me sympathetically. “Do you need some help, Everdeen?”

“That depends,” I snark. “Can you not be a pervert for thirty seconds?”

“Maybe twenty.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she rounds my bed, and I am careful to turn according to her position so she never gets a good view of my butt. “Calm down,” she teases, “if I really wanted to check you out, I could knock your hands away in a second right now.” She guides me backward so I’m half-sitting on the edge of the bed, in a move that makes my stomach turn. “Besides,” she chuckles as she kneels down in front of me, “your ass probably isn’t as nice as Finnick’s.” This brings a question back to my mind that I’d first pondered during the Quell, and now that I know that Finnick hasn’t always loved Annie, curiosity gets the better of me.

“So have you two…” She looks up at me from the ground, and I feel my diaphragm constrict uncomfortably. “You know.” I lift one hand to make a gesture for her to continue that thought on her own. Her face splits into a grin.

“I think you mean this?” She grabs my hand and bends my ring and pinky finger to my palm, and then repeatedly thrusts my first two fingers in and out of the loose fist she has just created with her other hand. I don’t think I’ve ever turned redder in my life. Johanna just laughs and plucks the underwear from my hand that’s still over my crotch, and then sits back on her calves. She pauses to examine the tight miniature shorts and comments, “I like this style too,” as if this had to become any more embarrassing. It isn’t until she has poked my feet through the leg holes and handed the underwear to me above my knees that I am able to speak again.

“I guess your twenty seconds is up,” I comment as I stand to pull the shorts over my hips. I pick my pants up off the bed and hand them to her before sitting back down.

“You started it,” she points out as she guides the waistband over one foot and bunches the pant leg up over my lower leg. “You asked.” I can’t argue with that, so I don’t bother trying. She has just finished repeating the action on the other side when she adds, “No.”

“No what?” I query, squinting down at the girl.

“To your question, brainless,” she replies, catching my eye again with a hint of a smile. “No.” I somehow feel relieved. I’m too distracted by our conversation to grab the top of the pants that she’s now raised above my knees, so she rolls her eyes and stands up, pulling them up with her. “Finnick’s just Finnick. Most of the victors have seen his ass at some point or another,” she explains as the pants reach the bottom of my butt and I’m forced to stand up. “Hell, most of the country has.”

“I’ve seen him in his underwear,” I contribute.

She wrestles the pants up over my hips and smirks. “I’m sure that was very traumatizing for everyone’s favorite virgin.” I scowl at her and she laughs, “What? You’re a terrible liar. It’s not like I even need to ask to know that your and your ‘husband’ never did the do. Poor boy’s probably never seen boobs in his life. Other than mine, of course.” As I quietly fume over the many horrible things she just managed to pack into that ten seconds, she looks down at the pants that she is still grasping at my waist and gives them another tug. “Do I have to do these up for you too, or are you capable of managing that on your own?”

I suddenly shove her, sending her stumbling back the five feet to the wall before hitting it hard. Her eyes widen as I take a step closer. “Fuck you, Mason!” I spit.

The woman stares up at me with a similar look on her face as when she kissed my knuckles on the dance floor, only perhaps more surprised. And just like it did then, it makes me uneasy now. After a few seconds, she grins and pushes off the wall to come clap me on the shoulder. “All right, the girl on fire burns again!” she cheers. I swat her off of me and storm away.

“Go to hell!” I call over my shoulder as I fasten my pants on the way out the door, slowing only briefly to jam my feet haphazardly into my ill-fitting shoes. I can hear her hot on my heels by the time she replies.

“Already there, darling.”

***

It’s a merciful miracle that my ribs are in a little less pain by the afternoon, because if they weren’t, even the small bit of recoil from the guns we are shooting would have been unbearable. The fact that my injured side is not my shooting side also probably helps in that regard. I empty my magazine for the umpteenth time this afternoon and step back from the line to reload. 

“Nice round, Twelve,” Johanna remarks from beside me, looking clearly impressed and perhaps a bit jealous.

“It’s a lot like shooting a bow,” I shrug. “You’ll get the hang of it.” She nods, pulls her ear protection on and steps up to fire at the group of targets we have been sharing for the last couple of hours. She would probably be getting the hang of it faster if we weren’t isolated over here at the farthest set of targets from the compound, far away from Soldier York and her instruction, but Johanna had insisted that she didn’t want York breathing down her neck while she practiced. I’m pretty sure it actually has more to do with her not wanting York to notice her deteriorating condition, although the scores are reported electronically so it’s not like no one would notice that she is struggling. She could power through the strength training and running this morning, but the precision exercises of gun assembly and shooting have been made nearly impossible by her shaking that has only intensified since we stepped outside and into this downpour. I had assumed her withdrawal symptoms would be alleviated with time, like the pain in my ribs has, but maybe they have to get worse before they will get better. She is operating on an empty stomach too, given that she tossed her field lunch after getting only half of it down.

Johanna tears her earmuffs off halfway through her round and yells, “Hey, Everdeen! Can you give me a hand here?” I begrudgingly sling my gun over my shoulder by its strap and nod. It’s not really fair that it’s fallen to me to be the teacher when I barely even know how to use one of these things, just because she doesn’t want attention from York.

“What is it, Mason?” I mock as I come closer. “Not capable of managing that on your own?” Her face dissolves into a pleading look, and it hits me that she is actually at the end of her rope. I still can’t stop myself from adding, “Well, apparently it was funny when you said it.”

She snuffles and looks down at her foot that is toeing the puddle she is standing in. “Don’t right now, okay? Make fun of me all you want later, please do, just…” She looks back up, and when I squint I can tell that not all of the wetness on her face is from the rain, although it is really starting to pick up again. I never thought I’d see the day that I’d witness Johanna crying once, let alone twice. I sigh and nod, motion for her to continue. “I can’t hold this thing steady,” she complains. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It would be a lot easier if you weren’t shaking from withdrawal,” I start. “But you probably have to work on your breathing too. Remember what York said, you have to shoot when you’ve just finished the inhale or exhale, not while you’re actually breathing. And your breaths are too shallow and fast right now to do that properly.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she snarks.

“Do you want my help or not?” I snap.

Johanna’s eyes blink away and she nods. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

She catches my eye again and looks particularly annoyed. I have a feeling she’s going to make me regret this later, but for now I’m enjoying the reversed power dynamics. “Yes please, Miss Soldier Everdeen Mockingjay sir ma’am!” she shouts with far too much enthusiasm, and I have to bite my lip to suppress the smile I feel coming on.

“Okay, then.” I motion for her to face the targets, so she does, raises her gun, and clicks the safety off. “I think you’re holding it right,” I analyze, running my gaze from her left hand steadying the gun all the way down her body to her feet. I walk around to her other side and slightly adjust where the butt of the gun rests under her right collarbone. “That’s good,” I muse. “Now try and breathe deeply for me, okay? Nice and slow.” I reach around her and place a hand on her upper back. “I want to feel my hand move every time. At least three seconds in and three seconds out. I’ll count for you.” Between the counting and the pressure of my hand to focus on, Johanna manages to even her breathing out a bit, so after a few breaths, I instruct her, “Now shoot after this exhale.”

The bullet hits the intended target – not in the center, but decently close. She turns her face to me and grins hugely. My gut tightens at the sight, and I’m definitely enjoying seeing her happy due to my influence again, but I keep my face straight and jerk my head to the right. “Don’t look at me,” I chide, “look at your next target.” She obliges and starts the deep breathing again. I start counting on the second inhalation.

“One. Two.” A flash of lightning brightens the sky, but I stay focused. “Three.” Two booms sound loudly right then: a crack of thunder, and Johanna’s gun. I startle at the second one, as I was not expecting it yet, but I downright jump at the piercing scream suddenly coming from less than a foot away. Johanna is standing stiff as a board, mouth and eyes wide open, pupils dilated. “Johanna!” I shout over her voice. “Johanna, snap out of it!” I reach over the barrel of her gun and backhand her across the face. She stops screaming, recoils and looks around frantically, but seems to look right through me. Her breathing is shallow and irregular again, only much more so. I wrap my arm around her gun and pin it against my side so she can’t point it my way, then grab her chin with my left hand and pull it to me. “Johanna,” I yell from inches away, “it’s okay! It’s me, Kat-”

A second lightning bolt strikes behind me and lights up the sky, and from the almost simultaneous crack of thunder, I know it must be close. Johanna falls to the ground and tightens into a ball, and because I have an iron grip on her gun, I go down with her. Her screaming resumes, but now it’s between shallow inhalations, so it’s not nearly as loud. I fumble to lock the safety on her weapon, then try to wrest it from her grip. As with all of her limbs, her trigger finger is locked tightly – thank god these guns don’t fire in bursts. I brace a foot against her ribcage and push. When I manage to peel her finger off the trigger, the gun goes flying out of both of our hands, but I only care that she can no longer shoot or hit me with it. I quickly toss my own weapon behind me and drop onto my stomach beside the girl, whose screaming has subsided into labored whimpers. She’s now rocking herself in the fetal position, but it’s hardly noticeable because she is shaking so badly.

“York!” I holler toward the compound. “York, I need a medic! Medic!” I scream fruitlessly. We are too far away and the storm is too loud. Thankfully, the younger teenagers at the next two sets of targets have witnessed the commotion and are watching us. I point to the closest one. “Kid, go tell Soldier York I need a medic!” I shout, hoping that the panic I feel is not too evident in my voice. “Now!” He turns and sprints away, and I return my attention to the other victor. “Johanna!” I grab her wrist tightly, and instantly her eyes lock on me. She lets out another blood-curdling scream and starts kicking wildly. “Johanna, stop!” I manage to get past her thrashing legs and roll her onto her back and into the puddle. I see her eyes go wide and any remaining color drain from her face just as I pin her wrist to the ground.

“No!” Johanna shrieks. I would think that her finding words again would be an improvement if it weren’t for the fact that her panic has visibly transformed into pure terror. She swats at me with her free hand and keeps trying to kick her legs, but my shins are on her thighs now and weighing them down. I catch her left wrist mid-slap and hold it firmly, restraining her last limb. “Help!”

“Jo! Johanna, I’m trying to help you!” I yell in return, forcing her second wrist down into the muddy water.

“No!” she repeats, her thrashing intensified. “Katniss!” I freeze, and she takes advantage of this, nearly shaking me off of her before I regain control. So she does know it’s me. Then why is she so scared? She doesn’t honestly think I would hurt her, does she? “Help!” Maybe she thinks I’m returning the favor after she attacked me in the arena. “Katniss, help!” My eyes widen and refocus on her hysterical features as it dawns on me that she is not screaming at me.

She is screaming for me.

“Johanna!” I bellow. “Jo, it’s me! I’m here!” I lean down so my face is only inches above hers. “It’s me, Katniss!” I would yell right in her ear, but I’m afraid she’ll hit me with her head and give us both another concussion. I’m not sure that it matters, because my words don’t seem to be getting through anyway. I look back toward the compound and see no one nearby. The pounding rain obscures any long-range vision. All the kids must have gone back inside because the storm is getting worse. Where the hell is York?

“No! I won’t tell you a thing!” Oh, god. No. “I won’t!” Fuck me. She’s having a torture flashback, and I’m restraining her. I am the biggest idiot in Panem. I can feel the blood draining from my head, but I scramble to release her limbs before I can pass out in this position. Instead I press my left cheek to hers and grip the back of her head with my right hand to hold her head to mine, and then tuck my left arm into my side. I can only hope this protects both of my sensitive areas from further injury as she flails underneath me. I lower myself down so I’m covering her body with my own but not pinning her down, and lock my knees around her hips.

“Shhh,” I croon directly into her ear. “Johanna, it’s okay. It’s Katniss.” She continues to writhe and shriek, and I wrack my brain for a way to break through, to establish my identity. It takes a moment before I find my solution. It should have been glaringly obvious all along. I lick my lips, take in a breath, and whistle the string of four notes that I used as a signal to Rue in my first Games. The signal that originally meant that I was okay; the signal that has become a significant identifier of the Mockingjay. Johanna ceases all movement, and for a moment I could swear she is back. But then she starts shuddering violently and I feel hot tears running down between our cheeks.

“No!” she wails. “You can’t! Katniss!” I lift my head and take another look at her face. Her gaze is still unfocused, her pupils still dominating her eyes full of tears. Her lip trembles as she shouts, “Don’t! Please!”

Perhaps I’m asking to get my throat ripped out, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Johanna full on the mouth. Her trembling lessens a bit after a few seconds, but her eyes are still wild. “Shhh,” I breathe. “I’m here.” I return my lips to hers, and after a moment, I can feel hers responding, moving against mine. I pull back and look down on her once more. Johanna squints up at me. She says nothing, but exhales deeply and slumps back into the puddle.

“Jo,” I whisper, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” I press one more peck onto her lips. “It’s me. It’s Katniss. We’re in Thirteen. No one is going to hurt you here, okay? No one is going to hurt you.” By the time I’m finished, she is already hyperventilating again and her eyes have resumed darting around. “No,” I command her steadily, “no, look at me.” She does, and gradually manages to slow and deepen her wheezing breaths a bit, but I find I’m holding my own breath as I attempt to mask my anxiety. I have to appear calm if I want her to regain her composure.

“Katniss?” she croaks out. I practically burst into tears at the sound of her voice, her lucid voice. I nod enthusiastically and cup her cheek, something vaguely resembling a sob escaping from my chest. I wipe a stray tear from her face as I feel a few beginning to roll down my own. Johanna just stares for a moment before suddenly scooting backward and out of the puddle. Now several feet away from me, she collapses on her side in the mud and starts to bawl. I slowly crawl up behind her, and when that doesn’t seem to spook her, I lay a hand on her shoulder. She trembles under my touch and chokes out a few sobs. “I’m sorry,” she rasps from her raw throat, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t, either.” I rub my hand up and down her arm a few times until her crying quiets down somewhat. “Let’s get you inside, okay? Before there’s another lightning strike.” She shudders and nods. “Do you think you can walk?” She weakly turns her head to look up at me, and I know right away that that is not an option. Instead I plant my left foot on the ground and reach under her neck and knees, and before she can object, I have scooped her up off the ground. I moan and grimace at the agony inflicted on my ribs as I slowly straighten up and dig my right toe into the ground to propel myself up onto both feet, but I don’t stop. Johanna turns and buries her face in my shoulder as I begin the walk back to the compound. I silently curse her again for picking the farthest target range from shelter, but am grateful at least that she is fairly lightweight. She grasps at my soaked t-shirt as silent sobs continue to shake through her.

“Don’t worry,” I murmur. “You’re going to be fine. We’re almost back.” That last part is not really true, and I’m not sure about the rest of it but I’m certainly hoping it’s true. I catch a glimpse of two figures walking toward us through the rain and let out a sigh of relief. I’m not sure I could have carried her much farther by myself. “Hey, Jo,” I say, “it’s York. It’s York and a medic. They’re here to help you.”

Johanna’s head suddenly shoots up in panic. I almost think she’s lost in a flashback again until she says frantically, “I had a seizure.”

“What? No,” I explain, “you had a flashback or something.”

“No no no, I mean I need you to tell them I had a seizure, brainless.” I smile at the familiar nickname falling from her lips, but my eyes must give away how perplexed I am. “I need you to lie for me.”

“I thought you said I’m a terrible liar,” I scoff.

“Then learn fast. Trust me on this one, okay? They might not let me go to the Capitol or even continue training if they knew what happened.”

It is impossible to miss the desperation in her voice and her eyes, so I nod my agreement before looking back up. It turns out that the field medic accompanying Soldier York is my little sister. I am disappointed for a second because a larger medic means less chance of me having to carry my roommate any farther, but then I realize that this could work to my advantage when it comes to storytelling. As we close in on them, I whisper, “I’m going to put you down, okay?” She nods, and I stop walking. I gently lower and then let go of her knees so she can drop her feet to the ground and stand on them herself. She loops an arm around my waist and leans on me for support, but at least she looks halfway functional.

“Soldier Mason,” York says as they reach us, “I’m glad to see you up and moving.” Her eyes analyze how Johanna is leaning on me and she adds, “Somewhat.”

“She’s still feeling weak,” I explain, “but the seizure ended a few minutes ago and she’s been improving since then.”

“Seizure?” asks Prim, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” asks York. “Soldier Kearns said she was screaming. And not just for a second like you’ll sometimes see when seizures start.”

“What? No! It was me that was screaming,” I object. Both newcomers stare at me and I quickly add, “And of course I’m sure! Our mother’s a healer. We saw a few seizures back in Twelve, so I know one when I see one.”

“That’s true,” Prim chimes in. “If Katniss is sure that’s what she saw, I’d trust her judgment.” It’s not true at all, actually. I’d heard my mother speak of the phenomenon enough times to have a general idea of what it looks like, but I’ve never seen one myself, and Prim knows it.

York narrows her eyes at me and shakes her head. “If you can recognize one and know how to manage it,” she inquires, “then why the hell did you pin her down? Some of the other soldiers saw you do it.”

“For the same reason I was screaming,” I reply emphatically. “She was shaking like crazy and was holding a gun! Okay? I was scared. I freaked out and forgot you’re supposed to just let them ride it out.”

Soldier York purses her lips and looks from me to Johanna and back again. She nods, seemingly satisfied. “Speaking of which, just where are your guns, Soldier Everdeen?” My face falls and I turn my head to look back at the trail I’ve just conquered. “Never mind,” she grumbles, “I’ll go get them. You two take Mason to the hospital and get her checked out. Make sure they send me a full report on her condition.” York stalks away, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I turn my face to Prim, who is already looping Johanna’s left arm over her shoulder.

“We’ll each take some of your weight,” she explains. “All you have to do is try to keep your feet moving, okay?” Johanna nods gratefully. 

“Thanks, Prim,” she says. We continue the trip back, but it is slow going with Johanna tripping over her own feet, and I can hear the buildup to thunder rumbling in the air. Jo must recognize the noise too, because her face jumps skyward and her eyes glaze over in alarm. Her legs start trembling and then give out under her.

“No time!” I call across her to Prim. “We need to get her inside, now. Help her get on my back.” My sister immediately obeys, guiding Johanna behind me and then hoisting her up so her legs can wrap around my waist. “Hold on,” I order the smaller victor, before taking off in the fastest speed walk I can manage without jostling my ribs too much. Prim jogs up beside us, and I nod gratefully. “Thanks,” I say. My mind flicks back to when she confirmed my fib earlier and I add, “for everything.” The look on her face tells me she understands exactly what I mean.

“I’m going to run ahead to the hospital and make sure they’re ready for her when you get there, okay?” I nod. “You can manage her on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Go ahead.” Prim takes off, and I tighten my arms around Johanna’s knees. “You all right back there?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, pulling her elbows over my shoulders to further secure my grip on her. Her breath brushes against my neck, sending a shiver through me as she mumbles, “Thanks. You pulled that off pretty well.”

My mind flashes back to another lie, at another time, in another place. I smirk a little at the fact that I just proved someone wrong again, and I can’t help but tease her. “Who can’t lie, Johanna?”

I know she recognizes this infamous line from my first Games, because she immediately huffs into my ear, “I’m not your fucking boyfriend, Everdeen.” I never thought this type of sentence would make me smile, but it does, because I will take this Johanna over the one I just witnessed any day.

***

Even over the sound of the hair dryer in my hand, I can recognize my roommate’s indignant objections through the door. It’s not bathing time yet, but nobody tried to stop me from jumping into the shower in our cramped attached bathroom given how muddy I was after the incident on the shooting range. I asked the even muddier Johanna if she wanted to go first, but she was being examined physically and verbally by various doctors and clearly didn’t have the time. I just tossed her a towel, as per her request. If the voices coming from the room are any indication, the examinations aren’t over.

“It’s not like I’m some sort of invalid!” I hear clearly as I turn the machine off. “This is bullshit!” The doctor barely starts his muffled reply before she cuts in, “You said yourself that if I got one it wouldn’t necessarily mean I’d have more.” I tentatively open the door and poke my head out, but neither of them notices me. Only the one doctor remains, standing a few feet from Johanna with a clipboard, while she glares up at him defiantly from the edge of her bed she is perched on. She is wearing a clean and dry change of clothes, but dirt is visibly streaked on her face and hands where she tried to wipe away the mud. She’s clutching the soiled towel tightly in her white-knuckled fists.

“That is true, Soldier Mason,” he replies patiently, “but there is a greater likelihood, especially in the coming days. We need to ensure your safety and everyone else’s. Imagine if you’d been holding a semi-automatic weapon when your muscles went tonic. You could have shot Soldier Everdeen or any of the other soldiers nearby, multiple times.”

This seems to get through to Johanna, perhaps because it is true even though the reason that it happened is a lie. She looks away from him glumly and her eyes settle on me. She lets out a weary sigh and shoots me a pleading look. “Katniss, can you please back me up here?” Yeah, I was right at the wedding. I really can’t say no to that face.

“Depends,” I answer as I take a few cautious steps toward the pair. “What exactly is going on?”

“They’re trying to take my gun away!” Johanna complains.

“Only for a few days,” the doctor cuts in. “And we need to keep her in the hospital for observation for 24 hours. After that, she can resume training and even take part in SSC if that is part of her regimen. She’s just not allowed to handle live ammunition for four days.”

“Four days!” she echoes him in disbelief. “This moron doesn’t understand that we only have a few weeks to prep for the invasion. How are my gun skills going to be good enough by then if I can’t practice?”

“We felt that four days was the bare minimum we were comfortable with,” he argues. “It’s actually quite a compromise that we decided to make in light of your situation.” He turns back to me and adds, “And she can participate in SSC, which will still give her plenty of opportunities for target practice.”

“I told you, we’re not in SSC yet!” Johanna directs back at the doctor. 

“What’s SSC?” I ask.

“Simulated Street Combat,” the doctor explains. “Also known as ‘the Block.’ It’s basically practicing potential scenarios for the invasion. You get fake guns for it, among other things.”

“Yeah, and we don’t get to do it yet!” Johanna turns back to me and widens her eyes pointedly. She wants me to take up her case. I don’t really have any desire to get involved, partly because I want to avoid Johanna’s ire and partly because my best argument is that we don’t have to worry about her having more seizures because she didn’t have one in the first place. But since she seems intent on sticking to that story, I can’t tell him that. On the other hand, even if I can’t convince him to change his mind, making an effort to help Johanna will at least keep me on her good side.

“What about other forms of ammunition?” I suggest. “Rubber bullets or something?” Johanna doesn’t look particularly pleased with this attempt at helping, and the doctor shakes his head.

“It’s still too risky. Those can badly injure somebody too.” It’s useless, but I try one more thing just so Jo can’t say I didn’t.

“Are you sure it has to be four days?” I implore. “Can’t you cut it down any more? Like she said, just because she had one doesn’t mean she’ll have more.”

“Four days is already something we aren’t entirely comfortable with,” he reiterates firmly. “Perhaps Soldier Mason should consider asking your trainer to recommend her for SSC or at least put in a word to let her practice with those simulated weapons. It’s the best I can do.”

I turn to Johanna and shrug. “Maybe York would do that for you.”

“It’s not like York’s going to come visit me down here,” she grumbles. “I won’t get to talk to her for a couple of days at least. They’re forcing me into hibernation down here.” 

“For good reason, Soldier,” the doctor interjects with waning patience. “You need rest more than anything after a seizure. The best thing you can do right now is sleep.” He accentuates this by manually dimming the lights in the room halfway before backing out the door and shutting it behind him.

Johanna scoffs half-heartedly and launches her towel at the small table next to the door. “That’s the worst thing I could do right now. Fucking idiot.” I would point out that he could probably give her better advice if he knew what had actually happened, but it’s not worth arguing over, not after what just happened not even an hour ago. Johanna’s fingers fidget in her lap while she starts swinging her legs off the side of the bed, letting them bounce off the frame under the mattress. “Maybe if I had some morphling I could handle it, but…” she looks up at me and shrugs in resignation. “Of course. Bad timing.”

“To take the edge off the nightmares, you mean?”

Her eyes darken and narrow. “No, so I can hallucinate colorful forest creatures and have a fucking tea party with them,” she fires back. “Of course the nightmares, brainless.” I keep my face as impassive as possible, refusing to take the bait, and after a few seconds she exhales shakily and looks down at her swinging feet. “Sorry,” she mumbles. Many people would see this as a good thing, but I know that Johanna must be in an extremely vulnerable emotional state if she is actually apologizing for something. I do have an idea of how I could help her with that, and with the nightmares – a solution that I know works for me somewhat from my time on the Victory Tour. But my stomach churns at the thought of broaching the subject, because in a way it turns this situation around and makes me the vulnerable one, whether Johanna realizes it or not. I decide to risk it anyway.

“Would it be easier if I stayed with you?” I venture, fighting to keep my voice steady. I slide my hands into my hip pockets both to suppress my sudden need to fidget and to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms. I can’t tell whether or not Johanna understands what I mean just from her facial expression, but if she does understand, she plays dumb.

“What,” she asks, “were you planning on running off somewhere else?”

“No, I mean…” I cautiously walk past her. “I mean stay _with_ you,” I explain as I sit down a couple of feet away, just below the pillow. Johanna studies me over her shoulder but says nothing, so I lean back onto my elbows and raise my eyebrows. My stomach drops and my vision fogs as she remains unresponsive, and my brain starts moving way too fast. Maybe I’ve stepped over the line. Or maybe she’s just being coy and defensive. That’s entirely likely. Maybe she’s about to slap me for being too forward. Maybe she legitimately doesn’t want me to hold her. I swallow down the forming lump in my throat and try to will the knot in my stomach to loosen.

Johanna finally gives me a reaction of sorts, forcing out a weak snort and trying to smirk. “You know, Everdeen, just because I’ve seen you half naked now doesn’t mean you’re suddenly welcome in my bed.” I roll my eyes. Of course she has to make this difficult.

“Like you actually saw anything,” I scoff.

“Not saying I did, and not saying I didn’t.” She winks, a glint of playfulness back in her eyes and voice. I suppose I can put up with her teasing if it makes her feel more secure for a moment, but I’m not about to let her push me away unless I’m sure it’s what she really wants. On the contrary, by the longing in her face that she can’t totally hide and the tremor in her hands that has picked up since I offered, I’m pretty sure my suggestion is exactly what she wants. And needs. Not that she would ever admit it.

“Just shut up and lie down,” I demand with a huff and another roll of my eyes, reaching up to grab her arm. I only have to give a light tug to convince her to do so. I shift so I’m actually lengthwise on the bed, and Johanna crawls up on my right. I have just settled on my back when the smaller girl tucks herself into my side, causing me to twitch in nervousness and surprise. She lays her head above my breast and a hand on my stomach, sliding it along until her fingertips bump into my hipbone. The jolt down my spine is immediate and strong, and travels beyond her hand. Unlike when she lay on me when I was doped up on morphling, the heat and spasms don’t wait to spread that far. That whole experience felt quite intense at the time, but now it’s like the shadows of those sensations have burst forth into full color. But given that they say morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised by my body’s reaction to a similar situation when sober.

I push out a shaky breath and attempt to regain my composure. I wrap my right arm around her and lay my other hand on her forearm, and then drop a kiss onto her forehead before I even realize I’ve done it. I pull back warily and ready myself for a physical or verbal reprimand, but thankfully she grunts only in acknowledgment as opposed to protest. I almost grin at this sudden change of demeanor in the plucky victor. The cuddling came unexpectedly easy given how much of a chore it was to get her to lie down at all. Then again, if I were afraid of slipping into nightmares recalling my own torture, I would probably latch onto the nearest warm body I halfway trusted as well, especially if it belonged to one of the few people who truly understood what was going on.

That’s something that is still bothering me, actually. Johanna was worried that being honest about the fact that she’d had a flashback would get her kicked out of the military, but the story we concocted is also impacting her ability to train, and having to keep it up has already proven to be taxing for me. I sigh deeply as I envision trying to explain what happened to our friends while working around a crucial part of the truth. I have to fight to suppress a shudder when the girl’s thumb starts sweeping back and forth over my stomach. If Johanna ever realizes I’m ticklish, I’m done for. I start speaking mostly because I’m afraid of what other sounds might come out of my mouth if I don’t.

“This seizure story is more trouble than it’s worth, you know,” I complain. “It’s only holding your training back.”

“You don’t understand, Katniss,” she mumbles into my chest. No kidding. “The doctors and higher-ups that know the details of… of what happened to me in the Capitol took some convincing to let me train. They think I’m too unstable and that I could be a major liability during the invasion.” She tilts her face up a little so she can look me in the eye. “They’d told me that a possible side effect was abnormal electrical activity in my brain, resulting in seizures. So it was a convenient thing I could blame what happened on without it having anything to do with my mental state. Make sense?”

I nod, even though it only sort of makes sense because why she’d potentially be having seizures in the first place is beyond me. I want to ask what happened to her, out of both curiosity and concern, but I’m not sure I’ve earned the right to that information. I could try to guilt it out of her because I’d had to bring her back from her flashback, but honestly I’m the one with the guilt on me, because it’s indirectly my fault that she had been tortured in the first place. But it might be better to know just in case I need to help her again in the future.

“Why did they think you might get seizures?” I hesitantly ask. I feel Johanna subtly tense against me, so I start moving my hands in small comforting circles over her clothes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” I assure her gently. She says nothing for a while. If it weren’t for the almost imperceptible trembling in her hand and her jaw, I might wonder if she’d fallen asleep.

“Because of the electrical shocks,” she finally explains. “That’s one of the things they did to me in the Capitol.”

I instinctively tighten my arms around her. She has suffered far too much. I mull the new information over and finally make the connection that probably should have been obvious. Brainless. “So, the lightning...”

“Yeah.” I feel her swallow against my side and burrow her face deeper into my chest.

“Shit.” That’s all I can think of to say. There really isn’t much else I can say. “I’m sorry, Johanna.”

“It’s not your fault,” comes her muffled and deflated reply.

“It kind of is, though.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she states, more firmly this time. “I made my own choices.” She runs her hand up and over my lower ribcage as she says this. I would object because of the pain it causes me in the sore spot she briefly presses on, but the movement somehow feels good despite that. “I signed on to the rebellion, on to protecting you, of my own free will.” Her hand circles around and farther up, and comes to rest on my sternum just as she curls her top leg up and over my knees. “Don’t feel bad. The revolution could have died if you did.” Right, the damn revolution again. Where all of my worth starts and ends these days. The tension in my stomach has increased, though I’m not sure if it’s due to the subtle and probably unintentional insult in what she just said, or a deepening of my desire.

Wait, desire? Is that really what I’m feeling? I scrunch up my face but resume the soothing movements of my hands as I take stock of what is going on in my body. There is the familiar warm comfort of holding someone or being held, but there’s also something else that’s familiar. It’s similar to what I felt when I was tangled up with Peeta on the beach, but stronger. Much stronger. And from much less than kissing. But then again, I have kissed Johanna, and I’d felt nothing at the time. Well, not nothing, but nothing of this sort. But how can I judge how I feel about kissing her when our only kiss was an impulsive attempt to pull her back to reality? Maybe I should kiss her again so I can figure out if it would make me feel something in a different situation. Oh, there I go again. I considered kissing her on the night of the wedding too, although that was more so out of pity so I’m not sure that counts. Then again, using that criterion, a lot of my kisses don’t count.

Johanna lets out a sleepy whimper and fists my shirt between my breasts, and instantly another surge of spasms and fire rips through my torso and down between my legs. A frustrated grunt escapes me as I uncomfortably shift my body under hers in an attempt to quiet the effects of this latest wave of desire. Okay, fine, desire. I reasoned that it was the morphling causing these reactions a few nights ago, but in my sober state I can no longer lie to myself. I’m physically attracted to Johanna Mason, at least in some sense. Sexually attracted, maybe? I think so, but I’m not really sure. Although the right parts of my body are certainly stimulated, I’ve never really consciously thought of her that way. I guess I never thought to. All I really know is that I like holding her close. It feels dangerous, yet somehow comforting. Great, more danger. This is one more thing that I really do not need right now. But it just might be something that I want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually consider those last two scenes to be fluffy angst. Because aw. I know this one was heavy, but not every chapter will bring the feelings like this. Or, at least, not those kinds of feelings. These events were necessary to move the plot and character development in a somewhat different direction than in the book, and faster. Given Katniss's reaction to Johanna failing her Block test in canon, I felt that making her aware of (some of) Johanna's problems earlier and having her actually witness a flashback could have interesting consequences for their relationship. In this chapter alone, it already ended up giving her another opportunity to notice and evaluate her attraction to Johanna, not to mention an excuse to kiss her. So, sorrynotsorry.
> 
> That being said, reviews are totally welcome. I'm still interested in hearing if the chapters sound similar to Katniss's narration style in the books. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and left kudos so far; I'm really happy with the reception my first chapter received. Hell, thanks for reading it at all! :)


	3. Something Else

My eyes pop fully open at the sound of the door creaking on its hinges. Despite the heaviness of my eyelids and my head in general, I haven’t let myself join Johanna in the slumber she fell into shortly after she last spoke, which I’d guess was about half an hour ago. The pain in my ribs has ebbed enough that I could probably fall asleep now, which is good because I haven’t slept in almost 36 hours but bad because I don’t want to just yet. So far, I have managed to stalwartly maintain my vigilance. I was probably right when I said that that no one in Thirteen would hurt Johanna, but nightmares still can, and I want to be there the second she needs me to wake or comfort her. Besides, sleeping just didn’t feel right after what she’d told me. I owe her this protection after all she has done to protect me, even if she would consciously refuse it. The person now standing in the doorway, though, is one person I’m certain she doesn’t need to be protected from.

“So it was a flashback, right?” asks Prim. If the tray of food in her hands is any indication of the time, my estimation was correct. I motion for her to come in, and she does, closing the door behind her. 

“Off the record?” She nods and sets the tray on the table by the door, and I look back down at the sleeping girl resting on my chest. “Yeah.” I shudder and meet my sister’s gaze again. “It was scary, Prim.”

She steps closer and peers over me at Johanna. “What happened to her?” she whispers. I swallow and screw my eyes shut.

“It was the lightning,” I explain hoarsely. “She started screaming and thrashing. I was yelling at her, but she didn’t recognize me. She was totally gone.”

“No,” Prim clarifies gently, “I mean what happened to her in the Capitol?”

I ease my eyes open and study the face inches from my own. If Prim doesn’t know, it’s probably because Johanna doesn’t want her to. “She’s keeping that one close to the vest,” I mumble. “Only a few doctors and military types know, I think. And she wants to keep it that way.”

“And you know?”

I catch Prim’s eye again and nod gently. “Now, yeah.”

My sister smiles and touches my shoulder. “You should eat, Katniss.” My eyes dart to the tray behind her, but she shakes her head. “That’s for her. The doctors said most seizure victims don’t like to eat afterward, but I insisted I should at least give her the chance, especially if she threw up earlier. You’re still expected to eat in the dining hall.”

I frown and shake my head. “No. I can’t leave her. If I move, she’ll wake up again.”

“That might not be such a bad thing,” Prim counters softly. “If she wakes up and you’re here, that could only be comforting. Besides, she really should try to get something down.” Prim’s probably right. I move my left hand to Johanna’s cheek and slowly run my fingertips down to her jaw. She stirs, but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Johanna,” I mumble, to no avail. I give her shoulder a gentle shake and try again, louder this time. “Johanna,” I say, “wake up. You have a visitor.” The woman nuzzles her face into the flesh under my clavicle and slowly opens her eyes. She raises her head enough to focus on me sleepily. “Your favorite nurse is here to see you.” She squints and blinks a few times before her eyes widen in realization and she turns her face toward the younger girl.

“Prim,” she smiles, “hey.” When she lifts her head to more easily meet my sister’s gaze, she lifts her body along with it and rolls fully onto her side, sliding her leg off of mine. I suddenly feel indescribably cold and empty, and this feeling only grows as she moves her hand from where it was nestled in my cleavage down my sternum and toward her so only her fingertips are resting on the side of my ribcage. “Thank you for helping me earlier,” she says genuinely. “I appreciate you coming out there in the downpour to give us a hand.”

My eyes unconsciously widen. This may be the first time I’ve ever witnessed Johanna being polite or gentle. How Prim has managed to draw this side out of her is beyond me, though I guess Prim does tend to bring the best out of people. Not to mention Buttercup. I’m pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of Jo’s fingers lightly tracing over my ribs just out of Prim’s view. Is this a subtle apology, a way to say she didn’t want to move? No, that’s just what I want it to be. If our last few heart-to-hearts are any indication, I’m nothing but the Mockingjay to her. And a warm and willing body, maybe, but not one whose feelings really matter.

“Even if I hadn’t wanted to, it was sort of my job,” Prim teases Johanna. “But you’re welcome. Are you feeling any better?”

“A bit,” Johanna replies. “It helps having someone here. I’m less scared of flashbacks if I know I’m not alone.” She smoothes her hand over my stomach, but the last thing I feel this time is arousal because I know she’s only doing it to justify her need to sleep on someone who just so happens to be me. Prim, for her part, just smirks at Johanna, who sends her a playful glare in return. I’m incapable of interpreting this telepathy going on between the two of them. I’m not sure what could be funny about flashbacks. Wait a second.

“Don’t you mean ‘seizures,’ Johanna?” I inquire pointedly.

She shakes her head. “Prim knew you were lying back on the field, I could tell. Besides, I trust her.” I have to remind myself that this is not so strange, despite Johanna’s reluctance to trust anyone. They forged a bond in my absence when I was in Two, though I clearly underestimated its strength. At the wedding, Prim made it sound like she’d been taking pity on Johanna by visiting her. It had never occurred to me that she actually enjoyed Johanna’s company. I know I didn’t for a long time. Part of me still doesn’t.

“What can I say?” Prim grins, pointing at herself. “It’s this sweet, innocent face.”

“Innocent, eh? Must be an Everdeen thing. Sweet, not so much.” I move my eyes back to Johanna, who is gazing down at me playfully. But I’m not really in the mood for games. I start to fake a yawn to give myself an excuse to close my eyes, but it quickly becomes genuine. When my eyes open again, she is still watching me. “Have you slept at all?”

“No, I…” There’s no way I’m going to admit to Johanna that I feel compelled to protect her, because even if I felt comfortable saying that, she would undoubtedly say she doesn’t need my help and push off of me completely. I don’t want that. So I improvise. “I wanted to be able to wake you up if you started having a nightmare.” It’s a partial truth, at least.

“I actually didn’t have any.” The intensity of her gaze and her small smile convey her meaning clearly. She did find peace in my arms. Even if it’s just a byproduct of the physical closeness to another human and has nothing to do with who I am, it makes my heart swell to know that my presence is helping to ward off the nightmares. This also means I can actually sleep once I get back from dinner, so long as I’m still holding her. I can’t wait. I’m exhausted.

***

I stumble into the dining hall, wiping sleep from the corner of my eye with the back of my hand, and automatically stagger to the food line. Or, where the food line would be if I weren’t significantly late. Once my tray is filled up with my prescribed servings of everything, I focus my bleary eyes enough to find a familiar face and start to make my way over to where Gale is sitting with the newlyweds. As I approach Finnick from behind, he is making emphatic gestures with his arms and speaking animatedly.

“I mean, I don’t usually throw it that much, but maybe I’ll have to now! Imagine if you guys had that for your arrows, hey?”

“Are you kidding?” Gale says to Finnick while watching me. “For one, catching all the arrows would take up more time than reloading. That’s what the quiver is for.” As I set my tray down and Finnick notices me, Gale adds, “And secondly, you’d have to have a separate button for each arrow unless you wanted them all to fly at you at once, and neither option is practical.”

“Way to ruin my ingenious ideas, Hawthorne.” Finnick almost immediately shifts his attention to me as I sit down, his expression turning serious. “Katniss, how’s Jo?”

I blink up from my tray. “Huh?”

“We all heard,” Annie jumps in. “Is she okay?” I’m not really sure how to answer that. She was viciously tortured in the Capitol and just had a violent, traumatic flashback to said torture not two hours ago. Of course she is not fucking okay. But I can’t say that to the girl who was locked up with Johanna and Peeta and was a little off even before that. Besides, I’m not supposed to mention the flashback. Short of being okay, Johanna seems stable enough for the moment, and I guess that’s what Annie meant.

“She’s resting,” I answer cagily, focusing on twirling a long noodle around my fork. “Prim’s with her now.”

“What happened to her?” Finnick asks anxiously. “Someone said she had a panic attack and was rolling on the ground and hitting you, but then someone else said she had a seizure. No one seems to be able to get the story straight.” Jeez, I wonder why. I’m going to kill Johanna. Not literally. Well, probably not.

“She had a seizure,” I confirm, still not raising my eyes from my plate. “And I was an idiot and tried to restrain her because it freaked me out. That’s probably why it looked like we were fighting.” This is met with silence, so I finally look up at my tablemates. That was a mistake. I squirm in my seat under their incredulous stares, especially Finnick’s highly analytical one. “What?” I sputter. “Did you guys think we were mud wrestling just for fun?”

“It sounds like something you two would do,” Gale mutters. I elbow him in response, but honestly, I am glad for the deflection from the real story that I’m trying to avoid.

“So she’s okay mentally then?” inquires Finnick, regrettably not letting it go. “I thought she might have freaked out in the storm.” Right, of course Finnick knows about the shocks. Finnick is Johanna’s best bud. Best bud with a nice ass. A quick glance at the puzzled Annie and Gale informs me that they don’t know about the shocks, so I keep my answer coded.

“I’m sure she’s been better,” I say cautiously, shooting him a meaningful look. If Finnick figures out what actually happened, it’s probably fine so long as he keeps it to himself. Johanna will no doubt tell him anyway. His eyes darken and he immediately begins to fidget. The others are still watching us questioningly, so I clear my throat and address a question to Gale before he can ask me one. “So, what was that you were talking about when I got here? Something about arrows?”

“Finnick’s new trident,” he replies compliantly, though it is obvious from his expression that he knows I was itching to change the subject. “It can be summoned from a remote location.” I squint in confusion and also extreme fatigue.

“I can call it back to me by pressing a button on a cuff I wear on my wrist,” Finnick explains. “So I can throw it and retrieve it without having to move. It’s brilliant, actually. It’s one of the things Beetee’s been working on down in Special Weaponry.” Weaponry. Weapons. Specialty weapons. I suddenly jump up from my seat.

“I’ll be right back,” I barely bother to say over my shoulder as I bolt away from the table toward where I seem to recall Beetee usually sits. I catch him just as he’s about to roll out into the corridor.

“Hey, Beetee!” I call before he can leave the room. “Wait up!” He spins his wheelchair around and smiles when he spots me jogging toward him.

“Hi, Katniss,” he greets me warmly. “I wasn’t sure we’d see you down here after the incident on the range.” Great, so now everyone knows about that. Well, maybe not everyone. Beetee is a fellow victor, after all. “Are you okay?” I’m taken aback by the question only because everyone else so far has been asking about Johanna, not me. Even I haven’t considered my own mental state after what happened. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” I quickly brush the question off. I can’t really afford to stop and think about that yet. “Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Of course.” I walk along the wall a little ways to give us some privacy, and he follows close behind. “What can I do for you?”

“Finnick’s trident,” I say. “Do you think you could use that same technology in other types of weapons? The remote retrieval thing?” He chuckles.

“I know I could, but I think you’d find that using it for arrows would prove too complex and even danger-”

“No, not arrows,” I cut in. “I was thinking of axes.”

Beetee squints in thought and rubs his goatee. “That’s probably feasible,” he ponders aloud. “The aerodynamics would be different, obviously, but it would be similar enough because I’d want them to fly straight through the air rather than spiraling, so they’d be easier to catch…” I watch him intently as he continues to think. “I don’t see why that would be a problem.” I grin in excitement, and he smiles widely in return. “Looking to diversify your skills even more?”

“Oh, no,” I gush, “Not for me. I meant for Johanna. She’s banned from using guns for four days because the doctors are afraid she’ll have another seizure and shoot accidentally when her muscles tense up. But I think she’d be allowed to train with axes. They don’t have triggers.”

“No, they don’t,” he replies, a hint of amusement creeping onto his face. “I’ll see what I can do. So long as the doctors don’t object, I could potentially have them ready for her within a couple of days.”

“Really?” Beetee nods. “Thank you! I mean, I guess she could train with plain axes in the meantime anyway, but I think it would make her really happy to have something special just for her, you know?” 

“Yes,” he concurs, “I’m sure that would help raise her spirits. I’ll set to it first thing tomorrow.”

I do a giddy little dance in celebration. Wait, I do a what? What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get it together. I need to sleep. And eat. With one final thank you to Beetee, I make my way back to the table and plunk down onto the bench. When I look up, I notice Annie rubbing her distressed-looking husband’s arm and whispering in his ear.

“What was all that about?” Gale asks from beside me. I almost tell him, but then decide that if word got around so quickly about Johanna’s episode, the news about the axes might too.

“It’s a surprise,” I mumble through a mouthful of pasta and quickly flit my eyes away, only to meet Finnick’s distraught ones.

“Katniss, do you think they’d let Johanna have any visitors right now?” he jitters. “I really should get down there. Is there anything I can bring her?” I take another bite of food as I formulate a response. I honestly just want to climb back into bed and fall asleep as soon as possible, but that won’t happen if Finnick is in the room making a scene. And if his nerves rub off on Johanna, she could get all riled up again, and I do not want to have to deal with that.

“The doctors have told her to rest as much as possible,” I answer. “She’s actually probably sleeping right now. Prim’s only there because they would rather someone keep an eye on her for awhile.” It’s true enough. The worry doesn’t leave Finnick’s face.

“Are you sure she doesn’t need some company?”

“She has all the company she needs,” I reply brusquely. Three pairs of stunned eyes take me in as I blink in surprise at my own outburst. I duck my head, ostensibly to stuff more food in my mouth, but mostly to hide the sudden redness in my cheeks.

“Finnick, honey,” I hear Annie say in a hushed tone, “she knows best what’s going on. She was there, and she heard what the doctors said.” I look up curiously. I’m used to seeing Finnick calming and comforting Annie, not the other way around. This is fantastic news. It can only bode well for the woman. And for me, at the moment. “If they say she needs rest, that’s the best thing you can give her.”

Finnick considers this for a moment before letting out a deep breath and covering Annie’s hand with his own. “You’re right, love,” he smiles, causing her face to light up. He lightly pecks her on the lips before turning back to face Gale and me. God, they’re so adorable it’s almost disgusting.

“I don’t know, maybe you should go, Finnick,” counters Gale. “So Prim doesn’t have to stay all evening.” I look over at him in annoyance and confusion, and he returns the expression. “Did you forget we’re studying military terminology tonight? You practically begged me to help you.” Oh, crap. I did, just yesterday. But yesterday feels worlds away now after what’s transpired in the last few hours.

“I know I did, but something else came up that I have to deal with, you know? Besides, I’m too tired to study. I could pass out any minute.”

“Then you’re not much good for keeping an eye on Johanna anyway, are you? Finnick should go and keep her company.”

“No point, she’ll probably be sleeping too.”

“So then what does it even matter if you’re there?” I could slap him, he’s being so frustrating. It’s like he’s trying to get under my skin and keep me from what I want. I can’t simply tell him that I need to be there because right now there’s nowhere I’d rather be than wrapped around Johanna. That I want to personally protect her from any more harm. That I want to be the one who comforts her if she wakes from a nightmare. Not Prim. Definitely not Finnick. I can’t voice these thoughts aloud because it is weird enough to even think them given my history with Johanna, not to mention the fact that they are completely embarrassing and I would never live it down. But I must admit, part of me actually kind of wants to tell Gale these things just to piss him off. I don’t, but I still tell the truth.

“Look, Gale,” I storm, “do you really need me to spell it out for you? It’s my fault Johanna was tortured. The seizures are a side effect of said torture. So I owe it to her to help her through this.” I’m not even finished before Annie has covered her ears and picked a spot on the table to burn into with her eyes. Oh, great. So much for Annie doing well. Finnick shoots me a glare, but I’m already sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry,“ I mouth at him, and he nods before turning to his wife and reciprocating the soothing gestures she’d directed at him earlier.

“By that same logic, it’s your fault Peeta was tortured too, and you should be helping him get over the hijacking,” Gale whispers. My stomach drops and constricts painfully, along with my face. I’m floored that Gale would go this far just to make a point. Not only because he knows how sore a spot Peeta is for me and that bringing him up is cruel, but also because this suggestion runs completely counter to his own ambitions, given that he and Peeta are rivals for my affection. Since when is Johanna more of a threat to him than Peeta?

“Are you seriously suggesting I spend more time with Peeta?” I ask him in disbelief once I’m able to control my face again. “Who are you, and what have you done with Gale?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles. “I just don’t understand why you’re going out of your way to hang out with someone who barely tolerates you.” He doodles in the sauce on his empty plate as he continues, “Instead of people who actually care about you. Who you supposedly care about.” That’s a low blow, but I can at least understand why he’s upset. We’ve been practically inseparable since coming to Thirteen, despite our frequent spats. Our relationship in whatever form has survived every test over the last several years, so to have someone new who he’s mostly just seen attacking me take precedence over him must be downright insulting. It was bad enough when it happened with Peeta, who is – or at least was – basically everything that’s good in the world. My posture and eyes soften and I touch Gale’s arm to regain his gaze.

“I care about you,” I assure him. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, you say that. But actions speak louder than words, Katniss. Your priorities are really messed up if you’re ditching me to spend time with someone who hates you, who you hate. You don’t owe her that much.” Even if he could be right about my priorities when judging from his own limited perspective, this response really rubs me the wrong way. He has no idea just how much I owe Johanna. And not only is he criticizing my ability to make my own decisions, he’s assuming he knows everything about my relationship with the girl from Seven and how we feel about each other. That’s something even I don’t know.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about her,” I snap. “We’re allies now. We have each other’s backs. Which is more than I can say for you lately.” I turn back to my plate and viciously stab at a few of the saucy vegetables in my pile of noodles that is getting cold, no thanks to the constant interruptions from the others. Gale stands and leaves wordlessly, but forcefully enough for me to sense his fury. I sigh deeply, shake my head, and take another bite before I bother to look up again and notice that Finnick is watching me. I suppose Annie is too, but it creeps me out less, perhaps because from her it seems less purposeful. I furrow my brow at him questioningly, but he just shrugs and scrapes the last chunks of meat off his plate and into his mouth.

“No, seriously,” I demand, “what?”

“It’s none of my business,” he says in a nonchalant tone, but his gaze is still intent.

“Yeah, you’re damn right it’s not.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows, but more in amusement than offense, I think. He smiles broadly and then turns to Annie, who is just downing the last of her water. “Ready to go, love?” She nods and they collect their trays and cups. We trade goodbyes, and they are gone.

Great, I just cleared a whole table using only the power of my sunny personality. But maybe it’s a good thing. Even if I’ve completely embarrassed myself and alienated all of my friends, at least now I can finish dinner quickly and get home with no more interruptions. That’s probably not worth the social drama I just caused myself, but in my exhausted stupor I seem to have developed tunnel vision. Johanna Johanna Johanna. I kind of wish I hadn’t realized I’m harboring some kind of feelings for her, because this is just getting ridiculous. But I’m also kind of enjoying it.

***

I practically sprinted back to the hospital once I finished eating. The doctors I passed are probably considering giving me back my special bracelet. I slow to a walk before reaching our open door, but the sound of a muffled slap coming from inside makes my face crinkle and my legs speed back up.

“You’re still going to lose,” Prim’s teasing voice wafts around the corner.

“I never lose,” comes Johanna’s rough reply. I approach on hunter’s feet for the last several yards before peeking around the doorframe. The lights are turned back up, the tray Prim brought has been emptied and discarded on the table, and she is sitting cross-legged on Johanna’s bed opposite the victor. I watch curiously as the two of them alternate tossing playing cards onto a pile on the bed between them. Johanna runs out of cards after several turns, but Prim keeps laying hers down. Suddenly, they both lunge to slap a hand on the pile. Jo’s face drops as Primrose victoriously raises the cards in the air and grins hugely.

“I told you so! I knew I’d beat you one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Johanna grumbles. “Of course you won. I’m half asleep, Littledeen.”

“Littledeen?” My incredulous voice surprises all of us and announces my presence to the others. “Really?” Johanna at least has the decency to look embarrassed, but Prim just mashes the piles of cards in her hands into one and bounces off the bed toward me.

“Katniss! We were starting to wonder if you’d ever come back.”

“Yeah, well, I got a little tied up answering a million questions about Johanna’s ‘seizure.’” I catch the woman’s eye. “Everyone’s worried, especially Finnick. He almost came running down here, but I told him you needed rest more than anything.”

Johanna quirks an eyebrow. “I’m sure you did.” I furrow my brow, but she just shakes her head and smiles. “Thanks. I honestly can’t take much more company today. And no more questions.” Her eyes drop to Prim and she quickly adds, “No offense, Littledeen. You don’t count. You can come visit me anytime you want.” Prim smirks back at her and holds up the deck.

“You just want a chance to win my cards back,” she teases.

Johanna smiles warmly and drawls, “Maybe.” Prim thumbs her nose at her, only causing the smile to grow.

I shake my head in disbelief and mild amusement at the pair of them. “You were never this nice to me,” I muse in Johanna’s direction.

“She’s much less irritating,” she shoots back, though the glint of humor in her eyes is unmistakable. Still, I’m not finding it especially funny at the moment.

Prim giggles and nudges me. “I have to get going. Mom’s probably getting worried.” I nod, and she turns to Johanna. “I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Prim.” The younger girl waves and grabs the tray before making her exit, leaving Johanna and I alone. I raise my eyebrows at Johanna and shut the door behind me.

“Who knew you had so many friends?” I jab teasingly.

“That’s hilarious, coming from you,” she deadpans right back.

I release a barely-amused half snort as I kick off my shoes. “Well, at least you get along with one of the Everdeens,” I joke weakly, crossing the room to my side.

“Who would have guessed?” she grins. “I’d assumed you were all bitchy morons.” This manages to hurt me more than it would have as recently as this morning, even though I know she’s joking to some extent. God, I hate how unstable she makes me feel.

“Yeah, and who would have guessed you’d ever behave tolerably enough for one of us to actually want to spend time with you?” I respond bitingly. Johanna’s eyes and mouth open farther as she tunes into my mood. She pivots on the bed to fully face me. “I mean, I know Prim likes everyone and everyone likes her, but even her enjoying your company seems like a stretch.”

Jo stares silently through narrowed eyes for a moment, plucking her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger a couple times. I can’t help but stare back. “Okay,” she finally asks, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Johanna scoffs and I add, “Okay, nothing I want to talk about.”

“What?” she demands. “Is it Prim?” I blink away and she continues, “Are you actually jealous that I got a bit of your sister’s attention? You shouldn’t be. That kid adores you, you know. It’s obvious.” 

I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” The opposite, though I don’t quite understand why. I would find their connection completely adorable and heart-warming if the differences between theirs and ours didn’t highlight all of my own insecurities. Like how the only thing that’s obvious about Johanna’s feelings for me is that she does not adore me.

“You know what?” I sigh resignedly. “It doesn’t matter.” It does matter, but I don’t know how to express just what I need from her. I’m too tired to think and apparently also too tired to speak without being a complete asshole, so trying to explain is probably a horrible idea. I don’t even bother to change into my hospital gown before pulling back the covers on my bed. Johanna will probably not want me with her after I’ve been snapping at her like this. Even if she does, now that I actually have the opportunity to climb back into her bed, I’m unexpectedly hesitant. I’m not sure my heart can take another round of being a generic bedwarmer and then feeling dispensable afterward.

“What are you doing?” comes Johanna’s puzzled voice from behind me as I crawl under my covers. I curl up on my good side, facing away from her. 

“Going to bed,” I grumble. “Turn the lights down, will you?”

“But…” She is seemingly lost for words for a moment, and when she speaks again her tone is still confused, but also imploring. “Katniss.” I grunt to indicate I’m listening, but I don’t move. “Look, I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I need you with me right now.” I painfully swallow the lump in my throat that has just sprouted at her words and try to battle the fluttering of my heart. She probably doesn’t mean she needs me in particular. She just needs some person to hold her. As much as I want that person to be me, I want even more for her to say I’m the only person she wants with her. But I know she won’t. “Are you on your period or something?” she teases, reverting back to her old habits. “You’ve never been this easily offended.”

“I’m not offended,” I shoot back. “Or at least I wasn’t until you brought up my menstrual cycle.”

“Then why are you upset?” What a stupid question. Only hours ago, I witnessed someone I care about having a flashback far more traumatic than any I’ve ever experienced, and I felt absolutely powerless to help her. In fact, I made it worse by restraining her. I know those few minutes were much worse for her than they were for me, but now that I am finally giving myself a moment to reflect on it, I realize I’ve been on edge ever since that first lightning strike. Seeing Johanna in such a vulnerable and perhaps even endangered state made me realize how important she is to me, much like how seeing Gale lying bloodied on my kitchen table and Peeta dead on the jungle floor brought their importance to light. And those feelings I’ve just discovered are confusing and overwhelming, especially in combination with the effect she has on me physically, which I cannot say either of the boys really have. Combine all of that with Johanna’s words and other relationships making me feel so small and insignificant, and it’s far too much to process. My nerves are beyond frayed.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I succinctly sum it up.

“Oh, no,” she taunts in possibly the most patronizing voice ever, “does the Mockingjay have too much going on in that teeny tiny little head?”

“Fuck off, Johanna,” I bark. She chuckles a little but then becomes eerily silent. When she finally speaks again, her tone is much different. It’s soft. It’s uncertain.

“You know… Everdeen…” The hesitation in her voice is what finally prompts me to roll over and take a good look at her. She’s still sitting cross-legged, gazing down at her fidgeting, grubby hands. “I don’t know how to ask for things.” The fear in her eyes is unmistakable when she shifts them up to meet mine. I just stare unwaveringly at her, and her jaw twitches as her eyes bounce away. She takes in a shaky breath before admitting, “But I don’t think I can sleep alone tonight.” I’m torn between empathy and anger. This is not my problem, as much as I’d like it to be.

“Call Finnick, get him to come cuddle you,” I grouse.

Johanna looks genuinely surprised. “Finnick? Who said anything about Finnick?” My eyes narrow, and she admits, “I may have cuddled with him in a few rare moments of weakness over the years, but that’s not really our thing. We’re like brothers, you know?”

I’m slightly amused and puzzled at Johanna sort of referring to herself as a boy, but it’s not the most pressing question on my mind at the moment. “So then what are we like?”

I catch the ghost of a smile of Johanna’s face before she can duck her head to hide it. “We’re… we’re something else.” She looks back up and lets me see the warmth in her expression briefly before slipping so seamlessly back into her signature smirk. “Not brothers,” she specifies with a wink. I roll my eyes, and she adds, “We’re not really sisters, either.”

“You know,” I grin despite myself, “back when you were a total bitch to me in the Quell, I wondered if that’s what it’s like to have an older sister who really hates you.” Johanna genuinely laughs at this, and I again feel the floating sensation of pride I am getting used to experiencing whenever I help her improve her mood or forget her troubles. Who am I kidding? Even if it’s scary, I want to do that for her tonight. I want to hold her and chase away the nightmares. I’d want to do that even if I didn’t feel like her torment was my fault. But I’m not going to give in that easily. I want to hear her ask again.

“Maybe that’s actually what it is,” she jokes. “Annoying siblings. I mean, you were always way too eager to get my approval.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “I was just putting up with you until I had to kill you.”

“And I was just putting up with you because I wasn’t allowed to kill you. Sadly.”

“That must have been _very_ frustrating for you,” I smirk.

“Oh, you have no idea just how frustrating you can be, girl on fire.” Johanna’s eyes dance with some unspoken challenge, and she starts plucking at her bottom lip again. It takes me a moment of feeling mesmerized yet oddly uncomfortable to recognize this as yet another variation of that look she keeps giving me that makes my stomach burble in nervousness. But it’s nervous in a way I sort of enjoy, in a way that ignites my insides in anticipation of some hidden meaning I’ve yet to discover but think I’m going to like. Whatever the challenge in her eyes is, I want to meet it.

“Hmm, is that so?” When Johanna nods, I grin and turn back over. “Goodnight, Seven,” I salute her airily. Johanna groans in frustration behind me, only widening my smile further.

“Katniss Everdeen, get your ass back in my bed right now,” she orders. “Don’t make me come over there.” I’d just wanted her to ask once more for me to come back, but for some reason her demanding it is even better, and there’s no way I’m not obeying that directive. The connotation attached to the way she just said it doesn’t hurt, either.

I roll back over and cock an eyebrow at the girl. “Was that intended to sound extremely sexual?” Judging from the smirk on Jo’s face, it probably was. I huff in a poorly executed attempt to seem hesitant or offended before swinging my feet down to the floor.

Johanna wiggles her eyebrows and responds lewdly, “Take it that way if you want, darling. But I thought you were supposed to be the pure one.”

I side-eye her as I make my way toward the door to dim the lights. “You’re an asshole.”

“That’s why you like me,” Johanna grins, pulling back her covers. She crawls under them just as the lights go down.

“I don’t like you,” I state matter-of-factly.

There’s no hesitation on my part this time when I slip into Johanna’s bed. I roll her forward onto her side and wrap myself around her, sliding my right arm under her neck and my left over her waist. She threads the fingers of her left hand through mine from underneath my palm and pulls my arm tighter around her, my whole body snugly into her. She lets out a deep breath as she finally relaxes, and wriggles to get into a comfortable sleeping position. I have to fight to steady my breath and hands as her butt grinds against my pubic bone when she does this, but once she stills I simply lean forward and bury my face in the crook of her neck.

We remain silent now, despite all that is left unsaid. Maybe that’s safer, given how well talking always seems to go. Or maybe words are just unnecessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 3 chapters in, and I'm already deviating from my original plan to stick with a series of one-shots. This chapter is not super important in regards to the overall plot, but I wanted to play around with Katniss's insecurity and confusion regarding her feelings for Johanna as well as take some time to develop the relationships other than Joniss, and just develop the characters in general. Prim may seem a little OOC here, but I purposely did that because I wanted to explore Johanna drawing a more playful side out of Prim as Prim pulls a sweeter side out of her.
> 
> I'd especially appreciate feedback on this chapter because it feels a bit weak to me. I mean, it's hard to write a strong follow-up to a really intense chapter like the last one, but even not considering that I'm still a bit unsure of how I feel about it - I almost didn't post it at all. It's just following Katniss's crazy emotional trajectory as opposed to much of any real action, mostly because a lot of this was originally supposed to be in chapter 2 and was part of that sort of mini plot line. I may make changes to this chapter or shift some of the events to other chapters and just get rid of this one so it's not just sort of a weird filler chapter. Katniss is definitely OOC here, but it's by design because the idea was that it's her first time dealing with feelings this strong and it's completely thrown her... but I think she may be too OOC, even considering the lack of sleep. So please, leave comments on what works and what doesn't so I can get some fresh perspectives on it.
> 
> UPDATE: Thanks so much for all the feedback on both fanfic sites. I'm glad to hear the chapter and narration did not sound too scattered to anyone else. I'm pretty sure it seemed that way to me because there are several unifying concepts in it that I was trying to juggle and I was focusing too much on the wrong one. I've changed the chapter title and a bit of phrasing in a few places where I felt it could be improved, but overall it's very much the same so there's no need to go back and re-read it (unless of course you love it so much that you want to, which is a huge compliment and I'm not gonna stop you). :)


	4. Backup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things I think I should mention again:  
> 1) I don't own the Hunger Games franchise or any of the characters, but I do sometimes like to take material directly from canon and slightly alter it or flesh it out. I do some of that in this chapter because it would have felt strange at this point to jump around those scenes with no connecting context, and I wanted to delve deeper into them anyway.  
> 2) I tend to favour movie canon over book canon if there's a discrepancy when referring to things that were said and done in the earlier installments, though I do use a lot of both.  
> 3) Angst.

“This has to stop.”

I blink up from my training booklet to see Johanna staring hard at me across the gap between our beds. I can’t even guess what I’ve done to incur her wrath this time. “What does?” I ask cautiously.

“Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients. Me in particular.” I exhale in relief at the realization that I am not the target of her ire. Johanna has been snapping at everyone she’s interacted with today, which has been mostly doctors but also me. Johanna and I flipped positions sometime in the night and woke up to a dead arm and sore ribs, respectively. It was a bad start to a bad day of prodding visits from doctors, and I was honestly glad to leave her behind when I went for breakfast, because by only ten minutes after waking she was already even crankier than I was yesterday after I felt snubbed by that comment about her protecting me for the revolution.

“Yeah, it must be getting claustrophobic in here for you,” I sympathize. Even I can’t stand being forced to stay in one place, and I’ve never been held prisoner like she has.

“You have no idea,” she replies emphatically, but accurately. “I can’t deal with one more fucking doctor coming in here to ‘check up on me.’ And if we’re not on morphling anymore, neither of us has a reason to stay.” I nod in agreement despite the fact that I do kind of have a reason to stay, at least as long as she is here, but then she breaks eye contact and mutters, “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.” That feels a bit like a slap to the face even though I know it has more to do with the doctors and the confinement than the company.

I go back to staring at the book, rather mindlessly this time. It’s ripped from my grasp in a matter of seconds, and before I even have a chance to look up at Johanna she’s tossing it over her shoulder and onto her bed. She leans down and braces her hands on my knees, her eyes intense and unblinking. My throat swells and tightens, along with other parts of my body, but I reflexively lean back despite the now familiar urge to move closer because Johanna in attack mode is still marginally more scary than sexy. …Sexy? Well, shit. “Well are you coming with me or not, Mockingjay?” I blink away and swallow, not entirely sure what she means or how to answer, or even if I could speak at the moment. “Huh?” she taunts, canting her head to the side to chase my gaze.

I force my face into the closest thing to an indifferent mask as I can manage, meet her eyes, and can only hope my voice sounds halfway steady when I ask, “You mean like move with you?”

“I mean like come with me to talk to the bloody doctors, brainless. My 24 hours is up and I’m not letting them keep me here. But I could use the backup.” I try not to let my disappointment show as I nod and take the hand she offers to pull me off the bed. It’s really not necessary because my feet aren’t even touching the ground, but I’m not going to complain.

Negotiating the move turns out to be quite the chore, especially since “negotiate” is hardly in Johanna’s vocabulary. I’m not much better at it myself. I enlist Haymitch’s help over dinner following an ugly argument between Johanna and a few of the doctors that I had to pull her away from before she did anything more to make them think she’s unstable. He’s known Johanna longer than any of us, and as I recall from my standoff versus Romulus Thread, he’s an expert negotiator and manipulator. Just how great a manipulator he is is still a point of contention between us due to his underhanded dealings during the Quarter Quell, but if I can take advantage of it, I might as well. Plus he sort of owes me for lying to me and letting Peeta and Johanna get captured. Well, letting Peeta get captured. I guess that was the sole issue at the time.

The doctors seem to have little problem with discharging me, especially since I’d be living with two members of the hospital staff, but I’m determined not to leave Johanna behind again, even if it means breaking up our cozy living arrangement. Haymitch’s appeals that Johanna could still come in to see her head doctor as often as they wanted and that everyone involved would be so much happier if she was as far away as possible don’t do much to sway the doctors. Their continued references to her seizure despite them clearing her to train again make me wonder if they might be suspicious of our story, but if they are they never explicitly say so. I think they may have noticed her misery after my rib treatment and put two and two together about the morphling as well. It eventually becomes clear that the crux of the matter is that they are simply not willing to let her live alone if she is discharged. What good fortune.

“She won’t be alone. I’m going to room with her,” I announce. Haymitch raises an eyebrow and Johanna turns to me in surprise. Gratefulness and relief are evident in her expression for a split second, but then she narrows her eyes and turns to scowl at the doctors.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” she spits.

“No,” I counter, “you need an ally. Just like I do.” Her pride still seems to be smarting, so I smirk and add jokingly, “We’ll babysit each other, okay?” Perhaps unsurprisingly, this isn’t particularly comforting to the doctors, but it gives Haymitch another idea. He suggests we could be situated in a compartment near my family so my mother can keep an eye on us. There’s still some dissent, but once Mom is brought into the discussion and professes her utmost confidence in us and her own willingness to keep tabs on the situation, the doctors finally relent. The compartment next to her and Prim is vacant at the moment, so they assign it to us and then leave us to collect what few items we have in our current room, but not before some parting warnings about how we are expected to adhere to our schedules and in general behave, which only induces eye rolls from both of us. We’re off to a great start, apparently.

***

“Quite the upgrade.” Jo smirks over her shoulder and steps into Compartment 2211 so I can get a better look. It’s no surprise to me because it’s pretty much just a mirror image of the one next door that I used to live in, but it really shouldn’t be one to her either given that she’s visited Finnick and Annie in theirs.

“At least we don’t have doctors checking up on us now,” I point out.

“Yeah, only your mother,” she says as she drops her cargo and flops down on the bed lining the left wall of the sleeping nook. The compartment as a whole is probably the same size as our hospital room, but the layout makes it seem cramped.

I gesture at the bathroom door to my right and inform her, “The compartment bathrooms are bigger. Nicer, too.”

Johanna raises her head and links her hands behind it, her expression somewhere between annoyed and amused. “What’s with the optimism, Everdeen? That’s not like you.”

“Well, why are you complaining?” I shoot back. “You got what you wanted. Or would you rather check yourself back into the hospital?”

“Because I’ve had a shit day and I want to vent. Is that really such a crime?”

“You’ve been venting all day already,” I mutter irritably. I cross the room to the small dresser nestled against the back wall between the beds and tuck my clothes away in one of the drawers, laying my few other possessions on top of them. I sneak a glance over at Johanna in time to see her watching me, but she just blinks lazily and turns her head to stare at the ceiling again. I sigh as I shut the drawer and open another. “Here,” I say, extending a hand toward the clothes she dumped on her bed upon arrival. When she looks over and sees me pointing at her stuff, her eyebrows peak in surprise but she hands over the pile without argument. The only thing she keeps is her military training booklet, which she drops haphazardly on the floor beside her bed while I stash her things in the drawer. She doesn’t thank me, but it’s not like I expected her to.

I grab my own training manual from where I’d placed it on the dresser and gingerly hoist myself up onto the free bed. The pain in my ribs has abated dramatically in the two days since my treatment, but they’re still a bit tender and I’ve been trying to rest them as much as possible in my free time. Conversely, I’ve been pushing my body to the limit and well past any reasonable pain threshold during the training sessions, and I’m exhausted both physically and mentally. But my desire to get to the Capitol and kill President Snow far outweighs this fatigue, so I open the reading material and pick up where I left off during Reflection.

I’ve just settled on my back and barely read a paragraph when a knock on the door breaks my concentration. I drop the open book on my face and release an exasperated groan. “Seriously?” I whine. I drag the book down to my chest and am about to get up when I hear Johanna’s feet hitting the floor.

“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” When I hear the door open a few seconds later, it’s immediately followed by Johanna’s voice purring out, “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Johanna,” Gale responds curtly. I sit up abruptly as he enters the compartment and my line of sight. He casually says, “I thought I’d come check out your new place.”

“They’re pretty much all the same,” I point out. I’m somewhat annoyed that he’s imposing himself on me here in our compartment, but I’m also glad to see him. We didn’t exactly part well yesterday and didn’t sit together for any meals today, so I hope this is a reconciliatory gesture as opposed to a jealous one. His eyes briefly flick out into the hall and pull me off the bed and out the door instinctively. He shuts the door behind us and we begin walking aimlessly.

“I was down in Special Defense this afternoon,” he says once we’re in a quieter area. “Saw Beetee’s latest project.” Terrific. I really don’t want to deal with another round of jealous Gale right now.

“So, what, are you pissed I didn’t commission some gadget for you too?” I retort.

“No.” I look up in surprise. “I was going to say that was really thoughtful of you.” My confusion must be obvious, because he continues, “I know you don’t hate her.”

“But you do,” I state.

“I don’t trust her,” he corrects me. “And I think she’s kind of a jerk.”

“You think it?” I smile. “I know it.”

Gale exhales heavily and scratches his neck. “Yeah…” He stops and leans against the wall. “I guess I just thought the last person I’d ever be competing with for your attention would be Johanna Mason.”

“Gale…”

“I was thrown, but I shouldn’t have been mean about it. I shouldn’t have said anything about Peeta.” That stings, even in the form of an apology. It must be evident in my face because he quietly adds, “I’m sorry.”

I nod in acknowledgement. “Apology accepted.”

“And… I know Johanna doesn’t hate you either. I guess I like to think she does.” I furrow my brow, but he just studies me quietly for a moment. Finally, he shrugs in response. “Hatred gives people space,” he explains. “It creates solid boundaries, and those are safer. People can’t stab you in the back if you don’t let your guard down. Can’t hit you in the head with a coil the second you turn your back.”

“She did that-“

“I know why she did it. She’d agreed to do her best to keep you alive so the rebellion wouldn’t die with you, even if she had to hurt you in the process. Not that I think she minded.” I can feel my jaw and fists tightening at this affirmation of one of my insecurities. Gale sure knows how to jab my sore spots. I have to remind myself that he probably doesn’t realize that Johanna’s motives for protecting me is one of them. I inhale and exhale deeply and wiggle my fingers loose before replying. Gale notices but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Didn’t you just say you know she doesn’t hate me?” I argue.

“Okay, fine,” he relents. “But she’s still a manipulative, cold-blooded killer. You must understand on some level. Don’t you feel weird about her hanging out with Prim, for instance?” Yes, sort of, but not for the reason Gale seems to be implying. Johanna would never hurt Prim. And I like to think she would never hurt me, not anymore.

“No. I mean, when Prim told me she’d spent a lot of time with her at the hospital, I was mostly just glad she’d done something nice for Jo.” His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, so I ramble on, “I felt terrible about what’d happened to her. I still do. And when it seemed Prim saw something good in her, I trusted her judgment.”

“Prim sees the good in everyone, Katniss. She could probably see something good in President Snow if she wanted to.” Gale holds up a hand as though to ward off the anger he must sense coming his way, and accurately so, because he just insulted the two people I care about most at the moment with one punch. “I know Johanna’s not evil like him,” he notes. “All I’m saying is that Prim’s really optimistic.”

“Prim’s a great judge of character, actually,” I snap. “Maybe she sees the good in Johanna because she’s actually a good person, have you ever considered that?”

“She’s never given me a reason to think so,” he remarks. I scoff at that.

“Other than that she saved my life?” I demand, my voice rising in pitch and volume.

“All that proved is that she’s on our side.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim. “She’s on our side, so what’s the problem? I told you, we’re allies. We have each other’s backs. No one’s going to kill anyone.” He still doesn’t look especially convinced or pleased. “You make it sound like we’re mortal enemies. I guess we sort of were in the arena, but that wasn’t anything personal. She had to die for Peeta to get out alive. Or so I thought.” Gale’s mouth puckers a little when I mention Peeta, but he lets it go.

“She won’t kill you even if she wants to,” he agrees, “at least not until the war is over. I just don’t think she deserves you.” My face crinkles at that. Deserves me? That’s not the most platonic of phrasing, but I must be interpreting it wrong. There’s nothing of that sort going on for him to be jealous of. Even if I think I might want there to be.

“What do you mean?” I inquire, battling to keep a straight face and guard against any defensiveness that might seep into my tone.

“You’re going out of your way to do her all these favors, and it’s only gonna bring you down.” I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding until now. “It was really sweet of you to get Beetee to make her those axes, but now you’ve committed to practically babysitting her just so she can move out of the hospital,” he specifies. “Are you even sure she’s stable enough to be out?”

“I don’t think you understand, Gale,” I respond with a shake of my head. “I’m not just doing a bunch of favors for Johanna. She helps me too. She’s actually a really good listener when she wants to be. And she’s there for Prim when I’m not around, which is often with all the Mockingjay bullshit I have to do.”

Gale’s eyebrows jump practically to his hairline. “Bullshit?”

“Okay, yeah,” I concede, “I know it’s important for the war. I do. But it takes a lot out of me, you know that.”

“No, I mean I’ve never heard you say that word before.” It takes me a second to recognize the hint of genuine amusement in Gale’s expression. “I guess I don’t mind a bit of her spunk rubbing off on you. But don’t call it ‘Mockingjay bullshit’ in front of Coin or Plutarch, okay?”

I lean in conspiratorially and grin. “You gonna rat me out?” I whisper. “Now that you have your communicuff back?”

“I think I can keep a secret or two,” he replies with a wink. I nudge him playfully and start walking again. He follows.

“We don’t have to agree on this,” says Gale a short time later. “Just… be careful with her, okay?”

“I am,” I state emphatically. “I’m careful with everyone, you know. She’s earned my trust, and that’s what’s important, not whether or not she’s earned anyone else’s. Not even yours.”

He raises his eyebrows at this comment but doesn’t contest it. “Lucky for her, then. Johanna makes me nervous.”

“I can tell. I mean, you did say you’re terrified of her.”

He smiles ironically. “That will never change.”

***

It’s a couple of hours later when I finally head back to my new compartment. Too late, in fact. I’m out of my assigned dwelling past the end of my allotted leisure time, and will barely have time to shower before lights out. Adhering to my schedule, check. I took Gale up on his offer of a makeup study session for the one we were supposed to have yesterday, but in the last half hour we just ended up goofing around with Posy and the boys and losing track of time. I think I might have even forgotten that we’re in the middle of a war for a few minutes, despite the original reason for the visit. When I slide the door shut behind me, I’m treated to a soft wolf whistle from behind Johanna’s training booklet. She lowers it a few inches so I can see her saucy eyes and wiggling eyebrows, but I quickly duck my head as I blush on my way to the dresser.

“No, nothing like that,” I mutter. “Gale’s just a friend.”

“And here I thought he was your cousin?”

I look up and am treated to an exaggerated wink. “Funny, Mason.” I dig my sleeping clothes out of my drawer and am starting to head to the bathroom when she speaks again.

“He doesn’t think he’s just your friend, though, does he?” she asks, her tone more serious this time. I turn back to her and study her expression, faintly hoping to find a hint of jealousy, but unfortunately her face is unreadable.

I deflate with a sigh under her gaze and shrug half-heartedly. “It’s complicated,” I mumble.

She raises her eyebrows. “I’ll say.” I badly need to change the subject. Although I know that talking about boys is pretty standard fare for girls other than me and Madge, I’m really not comfortable discussing my romantic entanglements with Johanna now that I’ve realized she kind of is one.

I clear my throat. “Sorry I left you alone, by the way,” I say. “I was going to come right back, but he offered to help me study.” 

“I wasn’t alone,” she replies. “Prim just left at ten.” I’m relieved to find myself happy to hear this. I guess I’m more reasonable when I’m not sleep-deprived. Or when I spent the whole previous night in physical contact with Johanna and finally feeling irreplaceable in that role, at least for the time being. Even if the first thing she did this morning was bitch me out for cutting off her circulation.

“Did you win the cards back?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We didn’t play, we were just talking.”

“Oh.” I nod after holding her gaze for a few seconds, then resume my journey to the shower. “Good.”

“Good?” she asks teasingly through a half-smirk.

“Yeah,” I repeat with a smile, bracing my forearm high on the glass partition and leaning on it. “Good.”

Johanna has just finished changing into a nightshirt when I emerge from the bathroom, but she’s foregone the complementary pants in favor of a pair of those tiny undershorts I also wear. The fact that I’m surprised she is wearing so much when she’s just in a t-shirt and her underwear says a lot. Yesterday’s muddy smudges were already gone from her skin by the time I returned from training, so I’m not surprised she didn’t bother to take a shower before changing. Not that there’s time for one now anyway. She goes to put away her clothes but opens the wrong drawer, and I catch her peeking for half a second before she shuts it quickly. “Sorry.”

I think how there's nothing in Johanna's drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn't have one thing in the world to call her own. Not even Prim’s deck of cards, at the moment. “It’s okay,” I assure her as she shuts her own drawer. “You can look at my stuff if you want.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You didn’t feel that way when I was helping you get dressed yesterday.” I shut my eyes and groan as Johanna laughs. I’m not going to dignify that with a verbal response. Besides, I’m too busy trying not to blush. Jo unlatches my locket, studying the pictures of Gale, Prim, and my mother. She opens the silver parachute and pulls out the spile and slips it onto her pinkie. “Makes me thirsty just looking at it.” Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. “Is this–?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Made it through somehow.” I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. My recent distraction in the form of the scrappy victor rooting through my things has also helped in that regard.

“Haymitch says he's getting better,” she mentions in a way that I think was supposed to be nonchalant. But her eyes flit away when I meet them with mine and her fingers suddenly feel the need to roll the pearl firmly between them, so she’s not passing that off as a casual remark.

“Maybe,” I agree guardedly. “But he's changed.” Somehow I’ve ended up talking about both boys with Johanna tonight. So much for not discussing my romantic entanglements.

“So have you,” she points out. “So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena fucked us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?”

“No,” I answer. Not even close.

“That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about,” she admits. “There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things.” Her eyes linger on mine for a moment before she almost imperceptibly wets and bites a corner of her lower lip and turns back to the dresser to put my keepsakes away. It’s kind of adorable how neatly she does this, like she’s afraid of disturbing my life or something. It’s far too late for that. She braces her hands on the lip of the dresser after she shuts my drawer, then takes in an audible breath and turns her head my way. She smirks off my quizzical expression and crosses the floor to her bed. “Sleep tight, Mockingjay,” she tosses over her shoulder.

I’m glad she isn’t facing me because there’s no way I could have disguised the disappointment on my face. Sharing a bed was certainly not my greatest motivating factor in offering to room with Johanna, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping it might happen again. I want to protest, but I don’t have her confidence and can’t find it in me to command someone to come sleep in my bed, and I don’t really have a good reason to simply ask. Other than the fact that, before last night, I don’t think I’ve slept so soundly without the influence of sedatives since I was reaped. But that’s hardly something I can just tell her. So instead I watch helplessly as she crawls under her covers just as the lights go out, and begrudgingly follow suit. It’s not a minute later that her voice rings out through the darkness.

“You’re not afraid I’ll kill you tonight?” This is kind of a ridiculous question seeing as we’ve already been living together for awhile, though I guess we are less supervised now. I squirm a little at the thought, but not for the reason most people would assume. The question is also ridiculous because we’re both physically and emotionally wrecked and in no shape to be fighting. But if we were, I wouldn’t let her get the upper hand. She already has the upper hand on me in far too many ways.

“Like I couldn’t take you.” This is met with a few seconds of silence followed by a chuckle and the rustle of Johanna shifting under her bedding.

“Wow, Everdeen,” she drawls, “I never expected you to be so forward.” I puzzle over this for a few seconds before I realize what I just said and my cheeks light on fire. I’m glad Johanna can’t see me blushing in the darkness. “Holy shit, Twelve, I can feel the heat from your face from here.” But I guess she can sense it anyway. I try to come up with a witty response, but nothing comes to mind.

“Pervert,” is all I manage to sputter out.

The nightmares return full force tonight, perhaps to make up for my last sleep being so peaceful. The truly cruel thing about dreams is that sometimes you know you’re dreaming, but you still can’t make yourself wake up or even feel less panic or behave rationally according to what you know in your waking state. Like how when I find myself on my knees in front of a whimpering Johanna, rocking herself on the muddy training field as thunder rumbles above us, I still grab her limbs and pin her down despite my brain screaming at me not to do it. I again see her face lose its color, her eyes widen in terror, and her mouth open, but what I hear is by far the worst part.

“Katniss!” screams the voice coming from Johanna’s lungs, immediately sapping all my strength and reason. “Katniss, help!” screams my little sister.

“Prim!” I shake the flailing body beneath me, I guess in some hopeless attempt to dislodge the misplaced voice from it. “Prim!” My panic increases as her voice only grows louder. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. I know this isn’t real. 

“No! I won’t tell you a thing!” If it had been heartbreaking to hear those words from Johanna before, hearing them in Prim’s voice feels like it could literally kill me. At least in the sense of the dream, but that would actually be good because then I’d wake up. Knowing I’m dreaming doesn’t make this any more bearable, much like knowing I was hearing jabberjays instead of my loved ones in the Quell didn’t help. Jabberjay. This Johanna’s just a jabberjay. She’s another one of Snow’s mutts created to terrorize me. “I won’t!” How clever. His favorite mutts were always the ones with completely fucked-up psychological components.

I need to kill this thing. Killing the jabberjays in the arena shut them up, and there’s only one mutt here, so that should bring me precious silence. A quick survey of my surroundings reveals no gun and no bow, so I use my most readily available weapon. I wriggle up Johanna’s body so I’m kneeling on her chest and begin driving my fist into her face repeatedly, but each blow only increases the agony and volume of Prim’s screams. I can’t handle this. I can’t listen to this for a second longer. I wrap my hands around Johanna’s neck and squeeze with all of my strength. 

“Shut up shut up shut up!” I holler. The girl’s eyes bulge as she fights to suck in any air. Her struggling intensifies, but I bear down harder, nostrils flaring and teeth grinding together. Johanna’s bloody face starts to flush and contort in horrible ways, but at least I can’t hear Prim anymore. She suddenly bucks her hips desperately, and as I fly up my grip momentarily loosens and she frantically inhales.

“Kat-” Johanna chokes out just as I lock my hands around her throat again. Wait, Johanna chokes out? My hands go lax again in shock. “Katniss!” Johanna wheezes. “What are you doing?”

“I-” She shoves me backward with such superhuman force I fly off of her completely and land flat on my back in the mud, the blow rendering me temporarily unable to breathe either. I roll onto my side and struggle to regain control of my diaphragm, eventually managing to cough. I look up and see Johanna looming over me, swiping at her bloody chin. She studies her soiled hand for a few seconds before turning her suddenly livid eyes back to me. I ready myself for the worst possible things Johanna could say to me, but unfortunately I don’t get so lucky.

“I hate you!” Prim screams from Johanna’s body. My jaw slackens as I feel the blood draining from my head. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. My name is Katniss Ever- “I hate you!”

“Prim, no, I didn’t-” There is really no way I can explain, no way to justify what I just did, but I don’t even get the chance to try because I am immediately accosted by a flock of actual jabberjays swooping down to take up the chorus. There must be dozens of them echoing Prim’s words, deafening even through the hands I’ve clamped over my ears. I desperately look up to Johanna for help, but her lips form the same words and I have to screw my eyes shut. The calls from the birds begin to morph, some still declaring their hatred for me while others begin crying for my help like Prim did before. But I can’t help my sister, not now, not ever. Every time I try to help someone, I hurt other people. I just proved that to myself yet again, in a very strange way. I still can’t help but cry out for her. “Prim!” My voice is so shaky and weak even I can barely hear it. I pull in a ragged breath and try again louder. “Prim!” Johanna’s suddenly grabbing my forearms and shaking me, letting out a horrible shriek in Prim’s voice just inches from my face. I struggle fruitlessly against her grasp and scream as loud as I can just to drown out the unbearable noise.

“Katniss!” That’s her own voice again. I try to swat at her face, but her grip on me is too strong. “Katniss, wake up!” The command coming from her lips finally allows me to do what I’ve been wanting to all along. I bolt upright in my bed, sucking in a loud, labored breath. All I see in the dim light is Johanna and her worried face, but my eyes dart around to scope out any signs of danger as I force wheezing breaths in and out of my lungs. “Hey, hey!” she barks, snapping her fingers in front of my face to grab my attention. I force myself to focus my eyes on her, and this helps a bit. “Katniss, you’re okay,” she says evenly. “Prim’s okay. It was just a nightmare.” Yes, that’s right, I knew that at some point before the panic completely overtook me. I let my torso fall back heavily onto the bed and wipe some of the numerous beads of sweat from my face with a shaky hand. “It wasn’t real,” Jo continues, now leaning over me. “You’re in Thirteen. You’re with me.”

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m seventeen years old. I’m a refugee in District 13. I live with Johanna Mason. I just strangled Johanna Mason. I just strangled my own sister. I’m a monster. I’m truly a monster. Peeta was right.

“Was it the birds?” Johanna’s voice breaks into my thoughts. I nod as a tear rolls down toward my ear. She swipes it away with a hand that she then lays on my shoulder. “Prim’s safe,” she assures me again. “Do you want to go see her?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I force out hoarsely. “I know I was dreaming.” Johanna nods silently just as I turn my head to look at her. She watches me for a few moments before I start to feel a gentle increase in pressure on my shoulder as she shifts her weight to straighten up. I clamp my hand around her wrist immediately, panic rising in my chest. I know my eyes and my touch must betray my desperation, but I don’t care. Johanna’s eyes change too. They seem to melt along with the rest of her face.

“Stay,” I say, though I’m not sure if it comes out more as a command or a plea. “Please.” I half expect Johanna to play coy and make me beg, given her initial reluctance to lie down with me yesterday and my subsequent testing of her by making her ask me to come back to her bed multiple times, but I guess she is a better person than I am. Imagine that. Actually, I believe it easily, even if the rest of Panem would never would. Especially after that dream. She pulls back my blankets and nudges me in a silent order to move over before slipping in beside me. I curl up on my left side and hope she understands what I need without me having to ask for it. She does.

The tears start in earnest the second her arms wrap around me and her warm body presses against my back. I find her hands and grip them like my very life depends on it, perhaps even tighter than I did when I was slipping off the Cornucopia island. I initially try to fight the noises bursting from my chest, because I still have some vestige of pride remaining, but I surrender when I feel her lips land softly on the juncture of my shoulder and neck. This is the first time I’ve cried since shortly after Peeta came back, save for leaking a few tears of sorrow after I saw him following the wedding and a few of relief when Johanna came back to reality yesterday, so there’s a lot to release. I find it surprisingly comforting that Johanna doesn’t shush me, choosing instead to communicate only through tiny movements of her thumbs against mine. It’s like she understands exactly what I need. What I need is to fall apart and have that be okay, instead of feeling pressured to quiet down or get my shit together and guilty if I can’t. I’m the Mockingjay. Though I’ve been falling apart ever since I got here, there’s never really been a safe place for me to do so. Until now.

“Come here,” she mumbles, scooting herself backward and rolling me so we’re facing each other before enveloping me in her arms and tucking my head under her chin. The sudden rush of what feels simultaneously like vulnerability and security breaks down any remaining resistance I have and sets off a fresh round of sobs and muted wails. It’s not just the nightmare causing them anymore. It’s my grief over failing and losing Peeta. It’s my knowledge of what was done to him and Johanna because of me. It’s my memories of the flashback and of being strangled, of witnessing the effects of their torture firsthand. It’s my confusion and anxiety over my newly discovered feelings for Johanna and whether or not they might be reciprocated in any way. It’s the relief of being in her arms and feeling like she never wants to let go either. I’m clutching her shirt so tightly my knuckles must be blanching and I’m soaking it with tears, but I don’t really care. Any guise of dignity I’d been performing for her is long gone by now anyway.

My eyes shut reflexively at the feeling of Jo’s fingers running along my scalp and through my first few inches of hair. After many repetitions of this, I’m finally able to draw in a breath that is deeper, though somewhat unsteady, and force out a heavy, shuddering exhale punctuated only by the odd sob. She doesn’t stop even once my crying finally slows and quiets to whimpers and strangled breaths through my painfully constricted throat, though the tears are still flowing freely and my fists have only wound themselves tighter into her shirt. At some point, her chest expands fuller against my face and air passes audibly through her lips, so despite my own continued sounds I listen for what she might have to say.

“Deep in the meadow,” she croons almost in a whisper, “under the willow…” I’ve suddenly gone mute, mostly out of shock but also because her singing voice is divine. “A bed of grass, a soft green pillow.” She moves her hand to my cheek and tucks the strands sticking to it behind my ear as she continues, “Lay down your head, and close your eyes… and when they open, the sun will rise.” She gently pulls back from me after a few seconds of silence so her eyes can commune with mine. The glistening trails across her own face come as a surprise to me, but her expression is not sad so much as pensive. She swallows and runs her fingertips behind my ear again before actually speaking.

“That’s all I know,” she mumbles apologetically. “That’s all you sang in your Games.” I can’t stop staring, and neither can she. But then dread suddenly overtakes her face and she begins searching mine anxiously. I squint curiously and she shakes her head and begins rambling, her eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have. Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to bring up Rue or anything, I just-”

“Shh,” I rasp out softly, pressing a finger to her lips. “Don’t apologize.” I probably leave my hand there longer than is strictly necessary before returning it to the now damp and very wrinkled part of her shirt that it had been grabbing before. “That was beautiful.” I’m relieved to see her face relax somewhat, though her eyes haven’t quite lost their tortured haze. I squeeze her side with my other hand in an attempt to pull her back from wherever her consciousness is holed up, and her focus seems to return. Her mouth twitches and she moves to place a lingering kiss on my forehead.

I consciously bury my face in Johanna’s chest again when she starts to pull back, because I know that if I don’t then nothing will stop me from cupping her jaw and leaning up to press a fervent kiss to her lips. It’s the only way I could truly convey how I feel, how much her comfort means to me, how much she means to me. And I can’t deny I want another chance to kiss her, maybe even take this one a bit further. I can’t deny I want to taste her, want to run my tongue along hers and over her lips, want our breaths to mingle until we are both breathless. But this is different than on the training field. Not only are we both fully aware of our surroundings, but I have no excuse to kiss her this time other than that I want to, and I’m not comfortable with her knowing that I do. If she wanted to kiss me on the lips, she probably would have done it already around the time she woke me up. There’s sort of precedent for it given that I’d kissed her when calming her down, albeit specifically to pull her back to reality. But then again, maybe she wasn’t entirely aware of it or doesn’t remember.

“Katniss?” I only become aware of Johanna’s hands tracing circles over my back when I hear her voice. I snuffle and wipe my eyes with my left hand before draping the arm over her side again.

“Yeah?”

“How does the rest of it go?” Here it’s safe, here it’s warm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you.

“Maybe I’ll teach you some day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to District_7_Profanity for beta reading the Everthorne scene for me.
> 
> I probably won't get another chapter up before MJ1 comes out because I'll be working a lot and I have to rewatch the first two movies at least once before next Thursday night. (in Caesar voice) So exciting!
> 
> But yeah, I hope this holds you all over until then. I will still be writing in the meantime and I hope it won't be too long before I can post another update.
> 
> UPDATE: I've edited this to better reflect the compartment layout from Mockingjay Part 1, crossing it with book canon.


	5. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. I took a bit of a break and I've been working (and going to the movies, of course) a lot, so I haven't had as much time to work on this. It's also quite long, which I hope compensates for the wait.
> 
> I've updated chapter 4 to reflect the compartment layout in Mockingjay Part 1, and I'll be using it from here on out. I especially prefer using movie canon when it comes to things I can visualize.
> 
> The usual notes apply regarding angst and the use/alteration of book canon material.

I grin with excitement as I feel the elevator decelerating to a halt beneath my feet. When the doors split apart, I’m already twisting to squeeze a shoulder through and bolt out into the hallways of Special Defense. I catch a few admonishing glances that would have been better suited for some unruly child running through the halls of the school in Twelve, though I already feel like an unruly child in this moment anyway, bursting with energy and itching to use my impressive foot speed to reach the destination and moment I’ve been waiting for all day. The glares convince me to slow to a speed walk all the same, mostly for the sake of keeping up appearances as a mentally oriented and responsible adult.

Johanna was initially angry when she pulled her arm out of the tattooing contraption this morning and saw she was only scheduled for training through the early afternoon. She’d been hoping to make up for the lost day as much as possible, understandably. I had to hide my giddiness at seeing 15:00 - Special Defense printed on her arm behind a studious squint at the ink and a theatrical shrug. I personally think I did a horrible job of feigning confusion, but Johanna was so confused herself that she didn’t seem to notice. I abated her disappointment somewhat by noting that we would probably be on the shooting range by that point and she would have been relegated to the role of observer anyway, but the glumness never quite left her expression.

“I don’t like surprises,” she said.

“Maybe it’s one you’ll like,” I ventured cautiously, still fighting to keep my excitement under wraps.

“I doubt it.”

She mulled over skipping the assignment until I reminded her of our orders to adhere to our schedules on pain of readmittance to the hospital. It felt strange not having her at my hip on the range, mocking me and complaining about the food or Soldier York, but my excitement easily overshadowed this. My one regret of sorts is that I didn’t get to see her initial reaction to the weapons I’d commissioned for her. I can only hope she was half as impressed by them as I was by the gorgeous bow that comes to life in my hands alone. I’m not even sure I’ll get to see her with them at all because we’re both supposed to be home for Reflection at the moment, but I’m hoping she was so excited she lost track of time. That’s definitely a bit optimistic and presumptuous on my part. 

I pass the hummingbird room on my way to the armory and halt mid-step. There she is. There’s the Johanna Mason I remember. The woman chucking and wielding her axes with flair is precisely the one I stole glances at in the Training Center, the one who fascinated me in the 71st Hunger Games. She is spirited. Poised. Fierce.

I can’t help but stare in awe as the girl strikes her wrists against her hipbones just as she drops into a tuck and roll maneuver and then reaches up to flawlessly nab the returning axes from the air. It must be a couple of seconds later before I finally blink and realize that my mouth is hanging open, and in that time she has already popped up onto her feet and begun a complex choreography of footwork and defensive moves with the weapons. She lodges one axe in a tree before I can even tell she’s switching to attack mode, then grasps the other with both hands and starts chopping at the air. Her grunts and gasps are audible even through the glass and even more striking than her physical moves, at least according to my stomach. This is definitely not the first time I’ve felt this stirring in my gut while watching Johanna handle axes, but it’s the first time I’ve recognized it for what it is. Johanna punctuates this realization with a particularly loud cry that resonates through my whole body and a swift whip of her arm to launch her remaining axe at the same tree.

I just have time to snap my mouth shut when I see her pivoting to face the window, but admiration must still be evident in my expression because she grins smugly and jerks her head to invite me to join her in the room. She hits her wrists on her hips again as I enter, catches both axes but immediately tosses one to the ground. She hooks the other over her shoulder and turns to me as I approach, an exaggerated lecherous smirk plastered on her face.

“Wanna play?” she asks, eyeing me up and down. I somehow control my face enough to just shoot her some silent side eye, much like the first time she asked me that after catching me staring. I don’t walk away this time, though. Johanna just snorts. “I see your sense of humor hasn’t improved. Did you enjoy the show, at least?” Right, of course she knew I was standing there, or at least that someone was. What victor can’t sense when she is being watched?

“Very much,” I praise her. “It was impressive.” Johanna smiles in satisfaction before cracking her neck and running her hands up her face to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her eyes close and head tips back as her hands continue to move upward past her forehead, and when I unconsciously start to rake my eyes down her torso they jump to the flesh now exposed above her waistband. The sight of her toned stomach stokes the smoldering coals in mine, and I let my eyes linger for probably a few seconds too long. I’m scared to look up and check if Johanna’s noticed me ogling, so I just squeeze my eyes shut and groan under my breath.

“So, Twelve,” I hear, causing my eyes to pop back open and meet hers, “are you just here to watch me play with my new toys?” She grins as she scratches her fuzzy scalp with both hands, and I force myself to keep looking into those playful eyes. It’s not that I want to look away, but knowing I’m being watched and absolutely can’t look down now makes it all that much more difficult not to drop my gaze to the tempting sight.

“Actually, I’m here to collect you for dinner. If you don’t return those soon,” I gesture toward the axes, “you’re gonna be late.”

Johanna tilts her head to the side and eyes me up through an unconvinced smirk. “You sure it’s not at all to bask in the glory of watching me enjoy your little present?” she teases, running her fingers down the handle of the axe on her shoulder. “Beetee told me these were your idea.” A genuine smile sneaks its way onto her face as she says this, and a blush seeps into my cheeks in response.

“Maybe a little,” I concede with a teasing grin of my own. When she snorts I defensively add, “Well, they do say it’s better to give than receive.”

Jo examines my expression for a few seconds before chuckling quietly to herself. “I dunno, I kinda like both,” she admits. She suddenly rotates her torso clockwise and snaps her right elbow into extension to sidearm the weapon in her hand into a tree behind her. I don’t have time to scoop my jaw up off the ground before she spins back to gauge my expression this time. Smirking pompously at my reaction, she smacks her wrist against her hipbone one more time.

My face puckers in irritation as she catches the oncoming axe. “You’re going to give yourself bruises doing that all the time,” I nag. “You had a free hand that time, could have just pressed the damn button.”

“But that’s no fun,” she complains as she collects her other axe off the ground. “And besides,” she adds slyly, taking a small but calculated step closer, “what’s the matter with bruises?” Given her tone and posture, I assume she must be referring to hickeys, though who knows what other ways Johanna knows to inflict bruises in a sexual manner. She takes another step, and when she tilts her head up to maintain eye contact I immediately identify that truly unnerving look she keeps giving me. It’s even more unnerving when she’s barely a foot away. I swallow and try to come up with a response or at least keep my heart from jumping out of my chest, but I’m not very successful at either. Seeing that now familiar expression in this context only adds credence my previously unconfirmed instinct that it infers something sexual. I guess that’s good news in a sense because it means she’s definitely flirting with me and maybe even finds me attractive, but it feels more like bad news at the moment because her smug grin informs me that she can tell it’s having an impact, and that honestly seems to be all she wants. She’s testing me and I’m failing miserably. I hate how easily she can get a rise out of me. I’ve always hated that, but I especially hate it now, with my heart or at the very least my pride on the line.

“I have to tell you something, Mockingjay,” she declares softly, her expression losing its levity. My stomach winds up even tighter at her suddenly serious face.

“What?” I murmur barely loud enough for either of us to hear me. My eyes widen a touch when she pushes up on her toes and leans forward, even though I can tell she’s not aiming for my mouth. I do my best not to tremble when her cheek brushes by my chin and the subtle rush of air passing through her lips meets my ear, but my best is not very good in this case. I downright shudder when she whispers her reply, both at our proximity and at the sincerity in her tone.

“Thank you.” She slowly withdraws, grazing her lips along my cheek for an inch before laying a gentle kiss at the corner of my mouth. This is familiar. Her eyes capture mine for a few seconds with an intensity that paralyzes me. A playful grin then works its way back onto her face and she hooks an axe over her shoulder again. She nods a farewell and exits the room, swinging the other weapon at her side. She throws me a final wink through the giant window on her way to the armory.

I don’t follow her. I don’t want to bother with all those pesky identification checks. And I need time to think. I approach the nearest tree and slide my back down it until I’m sitting in the grass, my eyes still wide and my brain all but incapacitated. I rest my elbows on my bent knees and drop my face into my palms. My fingertips work the tension from my temples and lower forehead, and slowly my thoughts become more coherent.

Johanna kissed me in the Quell. She actually did. I’ve had this fuzzy memory of it ever since I was rescued, but I always questioned it because it happened so fast and I was extremely disoriented at the time. That, and it was so out of place in the moment that it made no sense. Of course, so many things about how people treated Peeta and me in the Quell made no sense until later. I wondered if it actually happened but didn’t feel comfortable asking anyone, and going back and watching Quell footage was absolutely out of the question given my mental state.

With the sensation of this latest kiss still burning on my skin and in my brain, I’m finally able to replay the scene in my brain confidently. Johanna had just sliced my arm open and rubbed my own blood all over my neck after knocking me upside the head with the coil of wire. She told me to stay down and popped her head up to look at something up the hill, then leaned back down and pecked me on the corner of my mouth before sitting up and hurling her axe, I guess at the Careers. Then she was gone. My eyesight was hazy and my brain bewildered, so I couldn’t trust either of them to be sure what happened. But my skin remembers that moment, and now with this reminder to draw from, the memory has crystallized. I tilt my head back against the bark and run the sequence through my mind a second time, trying to burn it in for good. I never want to forget it again.

I’m still running both memories through my brain on repeat and enjoying the calming warm sensation they bring my mind and gut when I hear the door slide open. “Did somebody say dinner?” Johanna’s voice rings into the meadow. I turn my head as she approaches, and she gives me a quizzical look in response. “Why are you grinning like an idiot?” I immediately drop my face into a neutral stare. Her mouth wavers as a smile tries to fight its way to the surface. “Let’s go, weirdo,” she orders, nudging my hip with her toe. She extends a hand down to me and hauls me to my feet. I momentarily lose control of my jaw and eyes when I straighten up to find myself only inches from Johanna and her sinfully gorgeous face. Those expressive deep brown eyes. The lips that just kissed me. When I realize I’m running my thumb over the back of her hand, I drop it like a handful of glowing coals and take half a step back. She looks almost offended for a second, but laughs it off and heads for the door.

We silently make our way to the elevator, but it feels like a comfortable silence despite any awkwardness. I’m bowled over by another round of déjà vu when I turn around and see Johanna staring me down as the doors close behind her. Heat dusts my cheeks as I run my eyes over her nervously, and I giggle at the absurdity of the moment this is making me remember. I actually giggle.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, her devious smile giving away that she knows exactly what is so funny. She cocks an eyebrow. “Remind you of something?”

I shake my head and chuckle, “Nope, not at all.” I throw on a giant smirk and wink at her before her continued intense eye contact forces me to look away. Fuck, I wish I’d enjoyed the striptease more in the moment. Maybe I could have if I wasn’t so uptight. Though in retrospect she was undeniably beautiful, I was too miffed at the time to appreciate the show esthetically or for any other reason. Not to mention surprised as all hell.

“Why so nervous?” purrs Johanna. “Afraid there’s going to be a repeat showing?” Afraid? Hardly. Not that I have the confidence to say that out loud.

“Not really,” I banter in return, “Peeta’s not here to help you undress.” I just leave that comment as bait and hope Johanna rises to the challenge. Knowing her, she will.

She takes a predatory step forward and makes that face again. I gulp despite my effort to appear unperturbed. She smirks and takes two more steps, invading my personal space and forcing me to step back against the wall, and then plants a hand beside my head and leans in. “Who said anything about Peeta?” she whispers huskily. Despite how I consciously set that comment up myself, I can’t help but blush profusely and drop my eyes. They settle a foot lower. “Fuck, Everdeen,” laughs Johanna, “you’re too easy.”

“Too what?” I demand indignantly.

“Too easy to embarrass,” she clarifies with a grin. “So easy it’s almost no fun.” She pivots to lean back against the wall beside me and says nothing more for the last few moments of the ride. As we exit the elevator and begin to make our way to the dining hall, she adds, “Almost.”

***

The strictly regimented life of District 13 forces routine on Johanna and me as individuals, what with our new commitment to being model citizens and soldiers, but we’ve also established our own unspoken routine in our first several days in 2211. We haven’t bothered attempting to sleep apart again. Johanna slips into my bed every night without discussion and we settle against each other, legs and fingers tangling under the blankets. We eat all of our meals together, which isn’t much of a change except for it being more intentional ever since I came to Special Defense to collect her for dinner. The only thing we haven’t done together on the regular is shooting. We’re practically glued together for most of our training sessions, but Johanna went down to the Block to practice with the simulated weapons for the first two days after she received her axes. It was a relief to have her back at the range yesterday and today, firing shots at the targets and insults at anything that moved. I would never admit aloud that I’d missed that, and her, but I had. After one of the rare times we had split up, I caught her in the hummingbird room again yesterday evening when I was leaving from visiting Gale at his workstation with Beetee. This time, she offered me an axe.

“Show me what you got,” she said. I didn’t have much to show, as my experience with axes in the Training Center was quite minimal. Most of what I know, I know from watching her. I tried to mimic a few of her fierce swings then launched the thing at a tree maybe fifteen yards from us. My aim was true enough to hit the tree, but it lodged two feet from the trunk in a branch about twenty feet high. Johanna grinned and effortlessly clambered up to retrieve it. She’s the only person I’ve seen who can climb trees better than me, other than Rue. But, of course. Lumber district. She proceeded to give me some instruction, but I honestly don’t remember much of what she said because I was too distracted by the placement of her hands when she came to stand only inches behind me. Over mine when correcting my grip. On my hips when rotating me to the perfect angle for release. She nudged my feet apart with one of her own to further correct my stance, grasped my wrist and demonstrated the proper arc of my arm and precisely when to let go. My body was still buzzing from it this morning when I woke up in her arms. Or buzzing more than usual from waking like that, to be more accurate. I really should teach her how to shoot a bow some time.

We’re actually in good spirits when we head to dinner tonight, despite our fatigue and soreness from a week of intense training after so many of inactivity. My ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help and is turning into a half-decent shot. But what really caused our cheerful mood was seeing progress toward our ultimate goal of getting to the Capitol. Soldier York commended us on our way off the field today, and to top it off nodded at Johanna and hinted, “You just may be back on the Block sooner than you expected, Soldier Mason.” Johanna turned to face me and squealed with excitement through a huge grin once we were out of view and earshot, which was admittedly weird coming from her but not unwelcome. I cracked a grin at this rare display of authentic emotion from my partner and reached up to initiate a high five. But when she went to slap my hand, some evil impulse caused me to reach up out of her range and smile down at her condescendingly. She tackled me immediately and called me a lot of really insulting names during the ensuing wrestling match, but her tone was playful enough that I felt a bubbly sort of anticipation rather than the heaviness of dread in my gut when she warned me I was going to be in trouble later. For the record, I totally kicked her ass. I guess she’s not as good a wrestler when she’s not naked and oiled up, either that or she wanted me to pin her down. I don’t mind either reason.

We find Gale waiting to eat with me when we make it to the dining hall. Greasy Sae doles out our servings of beef stew and makes some crack about it being better than our wild dog she used to market as beef back at the Hob. “Don’t remember you turning it down,” Gale tosses back as he turns to find a table.

I start to follow, but pause mid step when a deep moan of pleasure hits my ears. I look back and see Johanna with her face practically in her bowl, inhaling deeply. She straightens up and blurts, “Shit, give me some taters and curds and I’d make a killer poutine!”

I contort my face at her as she swipes a finger through the gravy and into her mouth. “I have no idea what you just said,” I remark blankly.

Johanna releases her finger from her lips with an exaggerated pop, then grins and shakes her head, eyes to the heavens. Her smile drops a bit along with her eyes when they return to the stew. “Fuck, I miss home,” she declares under her breath.

My eyes linger on her pensive face a bit longer before I return my attention to Gale, who has just called out to Finnick and is approaching him where he’s sitting at a corner of two tables. I look past him and spot Annie and Delly to his left. Finnick bought into the program here sooner than Johanna and I and is already in more advanced training with Gale, and I’ve seen them eating together before, so I guess they’re friends now? That’s strange to think about, as is the concept of Annie and Delly being friendly. I’m not used to people from my life in Twelve and my life in the Games intermingling, other than Haymitch and Peeta being part of both.

Gale settles down next to Finnick, and I hesitate to follow only because there’s room for just one more person to sit comfortably before a group of Thirteen natives takes over the other end of the group of tables. There’s more room on the other side of Delly, but Gale has already sat down so I’m not about to ask him to move just so I can sit with both him and Jo. That would be almost as insulting as just sitting with her instead. Oh, great. I weigh my options quickly as we come up on the group. I eat every meal with my roommate. And besides, Gale was waiting around to eat with me, so snubbing him to sit with Johanna would just deepen his feelings of neglect. I break from Johanna’s side to join him. I turn my head to give her an apologetic look as she rounds the corner and I set my tray down, but she just lifts an eyebrow off her otherwise impassive face in response. She sits down next to Delly and cranes forward to listen to some story Finnick’s telling about “catching crabs, but not in a bad way.”

It is wonderful and enlightening to see Finnick so unguarded. He has had to don many personas to survive and get what he wants in the past, but now I feel we are seeing his true self as he sits beside his love. I’ve barely seen him let go of her hand since the wedding. I’m glad the conversation is so entertaining because I need a distraction from my stew to avoid scarfing it down. I’d rather make it last, both the food and the company. Everyone is cheerier than normal now that food has started arriving from the other districts and they are finally getting to enjoy a hearty meal. I still finish sooner than I meant to and am scraping my bowl clean with my bread by the time Finnick has moved on to some ridiculous story about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat. I laugh before I realize he's standing there, not ten feet away, behind the empty corner seat next to Johanna. Watching me. I choke momentarily as the gravy-soaked bread sticks in my throat. Johanna notices this from across the tables and looks up and to her left to see what has me so perturbed. She visibly startles and her eyes widen as she loses a bit of her color.

"Peeta!" says Delly. "It's so nice to see you out... and about." Two large guards stand behind him. He holds his tray awkwardly, balanced on his fingertips since his wrists are shackled with a short chain between them.

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" asks Johanna, who apparently was able to collect herself faster than I can.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," he explains. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He indicates the guards with his head.

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends," says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Her words have the same effect on me as a blow to the diaphragm, inducing an even deeper ache than when she first mentioned this on the night of the wedding. Maybe it’s because she referenced both of their screams this time, or maybe it’s the calloused, humorous tone behind it. When she deliberately catches my eye and I register her equally calloused and humorous expression, I decide it’s a bit of both and only made worse by how she seems to have said it to rattle me in particular. But it didn’t rattle only me. At Johanna’s words, Annie immediately did that thing where she covers her ears and exits reality. At least it’s not my fault this time. Finnick shoots Johanna an angry look as his arm encircles Annie.

"What?” Johanna asks just a tad too innocently when she notices Finnick’s glare. “My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy.”

“Like you ever censored your thoughts to begin with,” I shoot across the space between us. Johanna just smirks and goes back to eating.

The life has gone out of our little party. Finnick murmurs things to Annie until she slowly removes her hands, meanwhile the other group at our circle of tables finishes up and leaves in short order. I don’t really blame them. I would consider leaving too but, like most of our group, I haven’t been able to do much more than pretend to eat ever since Peeta and Johanna stole the show.

"Annie," Delly brightly injects into the tension, "did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

Annie cautiously looks across Delly and Johanna. "Thank you, Peeta. It was beautiful."

"My pleasure, Annie," says Peeta, and I hear that old note of gentleness in his voice that I thought was gone forever. Not that it's directed at me. But still.

"If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go," Finnick tells her. He arranges both of their trays so he can carry them in one hand while holding tightly to her with the other. "Good seeing you, Peeta."

"You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." It could be a joke, if the tone wasn't so cold. Everything it conveys is wrong. The open distrust of Finnick, the implication that Peeta has his eye on Annie, that Annie could desert Finnick, that I do not even exist.

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

When they're gone, Delly says in a reproachful voice, "He did save your life, Peeta. More than once."

"For her." He nods in my direction. "For the rebellion. Not for me. I don't owe him anything." His offhand and impersonal reference to me stings, but his doubts hit me even harder because they so mirror my own. He’s completely justified in doubting what was done for us and what was done for the rebellion when we are symbols so central to the cause. My eyes slide over to Johanna, who is watching Peeta with interest. He swallows his latest mouthful of stew and makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and me. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lovers thing?"

"Still dragging," Johanna declares coldly, her eyes finally flicking over to meet mine. I don’t really have time to analyze her expression because our attention is immediately recaptured by Peeta as his hands spasm into fists and then splay out in a bizarre fashion. My eyes widen as I recoil in surprise and admittedly an ounce of fear. Is it all he can do to keep those hands from my neck? I can feel the sudden tension in Gale's muscles next to me as clearly as I can see it in Johanna’s, and I can’t help but fear an altercation. But when Johanna lays a hand on him, it’s only a nonviolent palm on his shoulder. I can’t quite tell from here if she’s trying to comfort him, ground him, or warn him to stay put.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself," I hear Gale say from beside me.

"What's that?" asks Peeta, looking up from the hands he is now shaking out, much to my relief.

"You," Gale answers.

"You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?"

"That they've replaced you with the evil mutt version of yourself," Johanna interjects sassily as she retracts her hand. Peeta glares at her just as hard as I do but doesn’t attack, much to my surprise. Johanna just looks from him to me and back, shrugs in response.

“Therapy, huh?” I ask.

“I guess I need a lot of it,” she remarks pointedly and goes back to scraping out her bowl. I feel another pair of eyes on me and shift my gaze over to Peeta, who is staring me down again. I squirm and look down at the table, as that seems to be my best option right now.

"You done?" Gale asks me. I nod gratefully, rise, and start to follow him to go drop off our trays. I try to catch Johanna’s eye on the way by in hopes I can motion for her to follow, but she deliberately avoids my gaze.

“Johanna!” I bark. She coolly looks up, her face an indifferent mask so much like the one I perfected in my childhood. It’s infuriating. “Are you coming?”

“Soon,” she answers dismissively. I shake my head in disbelief and storm off after Gale. We are almost to my compartment before he speaks again.

"I didn't expect that," he says.

"I told you he hated me," I mutter.

"It's the way th- he hates you. It's so… familiar. I used to feel like that," he admits. "When I'd watch you kissing Peeta on the screen. Only I knew I wasn't being entirely fair. He can't see that." I guess Gale has a point about Peeta and his perception of things in his current state of mind, but he does seem to be getting better and yet he still despises me, so I’m not sure that that argument holds water. And honestly, I find his linguistic misstep more interesting.

“You mean ‘they’ as in him and Johanna?” I reach the door of the compartment and lean against the wall beside it. Gale doesn’t answer, but his expression tells me I’m correct. “I thought you said she doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s not quite the right word,” he muses. “She resents you, I guess.” He shrugs. “I get what it’s like to feel overshadowed.”

“Johanna, overshadowed?” I scoff. “By who?” Gale gives me this look I’m mostly used to seeing from Haymitch or Johanna, a look that says I’m missing something obvious. I blush and look away.

“By Peeta.” I raise my eyes cautiously, not sure I want to know if he means what it sounds like he might mean. “It’s not just me. The only way _anyone_ other than Peeta can get your attention is if they’re in pain. Or if they’re Prim. The rest of us have to fight for the scraps whenever he’s around.” My indignance at this comment is slightly tempered by my relief, slowing my response time enough for him to continue, “And by you.” When I narrow my eyes questioningly, he elaborates, “She’s suffered a lot too, probably even more than you, but you’re the one everyone talks about and sympathizes with, you’re the one they’re using to take down the Capitol.” Johanna’s words echo in my brain. I’m the one the Capitol is afraid of. But it’s nothing I aimed for or can control. “So many people have suffered,” Gale reiterates, “but you got all the glory.”

A new and very unwelcome wave of thoughts hits me. Is Gale jealous too? Is he unsatisfied with being known as the handsome hero who saved the remnants of Twelve’s population? Does he resent me for being the face of the revolution when he was the one who wanted it for years, the one who refused to abandon it when I was ready to? I think everyone close to me can agree that I don’t deserve the honor, but Gale of all people resenting me is really the last thing I need right now. I can’t take this from him too.

“I never asked to be the damn Mockingjay, Gale,” I object. “You know that, and I’m pretty sure Johanna does too.”

“That just makes it worse,” he counters. “You don’t even want it and you’re still deemed better for the job.”

“That’s hardly my fault,” I reply. “I have no power over that.”

“No, you don’t, but you do over the Peeta thing.”

“It’s always the Peeta thing, isn’t it?” I blurt, exasperated. “Aren’t you two just the most kindred of spirits?”

“I understand her better than I’d like to admit,” he concedes. “I get what it’s like to not be able to get your undivided attention, how it can make people act out.” I think of how he reacted when I blew him off to cuddle with Johanna after her flashback. Not that he knows that was why I blew him off. If he did, he’d probably have been even more annoyed.

“She gets my undivided attention here.” I gesture at the compartment door. “If she really wanted it, she should have come with us.”

“Come with us?” asks Gale. “I thought you were mad at her.”

“I am.”

He makes a strange face but only says, “Okay, then,” in a slightly confused tone.

I bid him goodnight and leave him outside the door. It’s not that I want to be alone, but it’s not his company I want after that shocking encounter with Peeta. I want only Johanna’s slender but strong arms to wrap me up and hold me until I can’t feel the pain, just her. I want only her high, grating, yet somehow soothing voice to whisper contradictions to Peeta’s beliefs into my ear until I’m convinced she is right. I also kind of want to yell at her. Given how she was acting at dinner, that might be the only one of those wishes to come true.

A couple of days ago, Gale dropped off a few advanced military tactics books for me to study so I could have a head start if I got bumped up to the accelerated training. I sit on my bed, trying to jam their contents into my head while memories of Peeta’s and Johanna’s arms compete in my head and distract me. It might be a closer fight than Gale thought. After about twenty minutes, Johanna comes in and throws herself across the foot of my bed. "You missed the best part. Delly lost her temper at Peeta over how he treated you. She got very squeaky. It was like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly. The whole dining hall was riveted."

"What'd Peeta do?" I ask, internally berating myself for having to suppress a smile at her description of the scene, both because it seems perversely insensitive and because I want to be mad at her.

"He started arguing with himself like he was two people. The guards had to take him away. On the good side,” she adds, rubbing her hand over her protruding belly, “no one seemed to notice I finished his stew."

“So that’s why you stayed behind?” I suggest accusingly. “For a handout?”

“No,” she answers hesitantly, evidently catching the venom in my voice but not commenting on it, “I stayed because I wanted to see how Peeta would react.”

“Oh, so you stayed for the entertainment? So much better.”

Johanna’s face changes, turns serious along with her tone when she snaps, “You know, Katniss, you’re really not in any position to be commenting on my reasons for staying when you didn’t stick around at all.”

I deflate and drop my gaze to the book in my lap. It’s true, I could have opted to stay when Gale mercifully pulled me out of the situation, but Johanna must understand why I had to get out of there. I’m not sure why she thinks I shouldn’t have. It was Peeta who was attacking me, after all. But I think I’m less disappointed by her lack of support than by how she didn’t understand I needed her with me after all that. In a small voice, I ask her the real question behind the ones I already asked. “Why would you rather stay with Peeta than come with me?”

“You’re the one who walked away from us,” she asserts with a meaningful gaze, probably too meaningful to be referring only to what happened in the dining hall, but I don’t have much time to consider this because she continues, “Besides, you were with Handsome. I didn’t want to tag along and make things awkward.”

“Okay, now I know _that’s_ bullshit,” I practically laugh. “You thrive on that shit. That’s all you were doing at dinner, making people feel awkward.”

Johanna shakes her head softly, wearing that same look I saw on Gale earlier that says I’m missing the point. “I meant awkward for me, brainless.” I squint at her, but she averts her gaze to the opposite wall. “Besides,” she adds, cracking her back and rolling her shoulders with a grimace before settling back down, “Bread Boy needed the company more.” My eyes pop as the truth suddenly dawns on me. I had assumed she had stayed behind because she was mad at me for some reason I didn’t understand. Because I always make everything about me.

“You wanted to make sure he was okay,” I think aloud. Johanna blinks vacantly but doesn’t argue. “Since when are you two allies?”

“Since you found us on the beach.” I exhale forcibly in frustration and widen my eyes pointedly. Johanna shuts her eyes briefly and sighs before explaining in a more serious tone, “You weren’t there, Katniss. You really have no idea what we went though.”

“I didn’t think you cared about him.”

“Neither did I,” she smirks. “He always kind of annoyed me.”

“Just like me,” I mutter.

“Not really.” Off my confused expression, she clarifies, “For different reasons.”

I furrow my brow. “Like what?” Johanna’s eyes are still on me, but her faraway expression suggests she’s looking through me more than at me. I wait for an answer.

“The whole star-crossed lovers thing was really cheesy and gross,” she finally says in the snide tone I’m used to, “as was his love confession on national television. Way to put a girl in a difficult position.” My mouth drops open a bit. Support comes from the strangest places. Everyone always tells me he did me a favor that night. And I’d assumed Johanna thought I was a willing participant in the act. She shrugs and continues, “He was kind of presumptuous. Like, he seemed to expect you to be with him just because he’d had a thing for you for ages. That’s what everyone expected, and it’s so fucked up. That’s not how love works.” My eyes must go as wide as they feel at Johanna saying something about love like she knows what she’s talking about, because she quickly adds, “I mean, love never brings you anything but heartbreak anyway and it’s totally not worth it, but it’s like he doesn’t get that the girl he likes has her own feelings and priorities. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean they’re going to love you back.” She picks at some fuzz on my blanket and mumbles, “Love is not fair.”

“Love is weird,” is all I say. Jo looks up and smiles genuinely at that, and I reply with one of my own. Hers fades slowly, and she shifts her shoulders uncomfortably again and rolls to lie back on the bed. “You sore?”

“I’m not used to using axes every day anymore,” she explains as she turns her head to face me. “The only regular exercise I got in the Capitol was vocal.” The maniacal grin forming on her mouth bothers me more than the words that just came out of it. She returns her focus to the ceiling and adds with a wry smile, “I mean, unless you count electrically induced muscular contractions.” Her words strike me like a slap to the face as much as a punch to the gut after her behavior at dinner.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I demand angrily.

“Doing what?” she asks blankly.

“Making light of your torture like I’m supposed to find some kind of humor in it,” I say, pain breaking into my tone by the end.

Johanna blinks but still keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling. “It’s better to laugh than cry.”

“And you want me to join in on the laughter?”

She suddenly rolls over to face me once more, and I startle when her eyes lock with mine and I glimpse the darkness in them that contrasts starkly with her flippant expression. “What’s wrong, Mockingjay? Don’t like hearing about what happened to the people you left behind?” There’s a distinct biting undertone leaking through her familiar teasing voice.

“That wasn’t my choice,” I protest, my brow wrinkling. “I was dead to the world.”

“As usual.” She flops down on her back again. I consider arguing that the blood loss and concussion she had caused me hardly sharpened my awareness at the time, but I know that’s not the point. I also don’t care to escalate the argument any further. I’ve already had more than enough conflict for one evening.

Johanna stretches her neck to the side, and when it pops a grimace jumps onto my face. She’s just popped it on the other side by the time I’ve scooted behind her. “Sit up,” I demand, scooping my hands under her shoulders to lift them from the mattress.

She glares at me over her shoulder as I fold her forward. “Hey, get your grubby hands off-” Her one eye I can see widens as I thrust my thumbs into the meat above her shoulder blades and start digging. It’s only seconds before Jo moans weakly and relaxes under my touch. A tingle runs down my spine and settles with the warmth already burgeoning between my legs.

“Pfft, like I’m the one with grubby hands,” I banter to cover my sudden pleasurable discomfort. “I think you have colonies of bacteria growing under your fingernails.” Johanna lifts her hands off her lap to inspect her grimy nails, but doesn’t reply.

Working her tight muscles is hardly a challenge for my strong archer’s hands, especially with all the mass she lost in the Capitol that hasn’t quite returned in full yet. In fact, it’s quite soothing for me, a rhythm I can lose myself in. And lose myself I do, burning a map of her curves and bony projections into my memory as my fingers meander over to her deltoids and then down between her shoulder blades. The muscles of her mid back prove to be rock hard and much more difficult to manipulate, and when I move just an inch too low Jo arches her back away from me as her extensors reflexively go taut from the pressure. She pulls away fully and lies on her stomach, stacking her hands under her forehead. I’m disappointed until she mumbles, “Lower back is easier to do lying down.”

I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod in acquiescence before I remember she can’t see me. I return my hands to where I’d left off and try to continue from the side, but the movement is awkward and hard on my thumbs. I switch to grinding my knuckles into the ropes flanking her spine and lean over her to get more pressure. “You can sit on me,” I hear her grunt. “It’s fine.” I’m a little thrown by Johanna passing up a golden opportunity to make a sexual remark, but I brush it off and take her up on the offer, swinging a leg over so I’m straddling her hips before sinking down to rest on her butt. It’s a pretty comfy seat, actually, if a bit bony from her recent bout of starvation. I shake my head and put my hands back to work to clear that unpleasant thought. The physicality of this encounter is wonderfully mind-numbing.

My thumbs and fingers prove futile in dealing with Jo’s mid and lower back, so I mostly stick to digging with my knuckles and the heels of my hands. When I reach her hips I move my hands back up to target her neck, resulting in a moan of appreciation. I swallow and keep at it, curling my fingers into the muscles at the sides of her neck and pressing circles into her extensors with my thumbs, enjoying the sound of her vertebrae cracking under my hands. It doesn’t sound gross when I do it. The juncture of her skull and neck proves quite tender and I have to ease up a little. I’d been planning to return to her shoulders once I finished her neck, but I find my hands sliding up to her scalp instead. Johanna grunts in response to my fingertips pushing little circles into the bones, but it doesn’t seem to be in objection, so I don’t stop.

Johanna’s sounds morph into mewls when my fingers reach her temples, and I shift uncomfortably as I feel a rush joining the pool that’s been building in my underwear since before I even mounted her. My reflexive shifting definitely doesn’t help the situation, and I have to bite my lip to hold in any noises I may make in response to hers or to the friction I just created. I bear down and rake the stubs of my bitten off nails along her scalp, trying to calm my escalating breathing and distract myself from what’s going on in my lower half. That’s pretty difficult considering I can feel my heartbeat strongly between my legs. It occurs to me that maybe Johanna can feel it too, given that that area is pressed right up against her, but I ignore that concern because I’m enjoying this too much.

I finally drag my hands back down her neck and, loath to give up direct contact with her skin, slip my hands under the collar of her shirt to knead the bare flesh of her shoulders. I rub hard to try to keep my focus on the sensations in my hands, and as my left thumb dips down to press above her shoulder blade, I find I’m unfortunately successful. I feel the subtle bump easily as my thumb runs across it, though its significance doesn’t hit me until I start to feel more of them. My gut knots up, but nonetheless I dare to lean forward a bit so I can put a picture to what my hand is feeling.

The blood drains from my head when I catch a glimpse of the scars streaking down beyond the edge of her shirt. They are unmistakable. I’ve seen the same scars on Gale. I have one on my face. I haven’t seen Johanna’s torso in any state of undress since reuniting in Thirteen, but I remember the smooth, muscular expanse of her back I ogled in the elevator and the Training Center. This is definitely new. Not that I wouldn’t be able to tell that anyway, because the scars are still raised and an angry pink-brown. They couldn’t be more than a few months old.

I only realize that my hands have stilled and pulled her collar down a little to peek when she abruptly flips over and knocks my hands away, glaring at me in disbelief. “Get off,” she says lowly, gruffly. When I continue to stare, mute and paralyzed, she repeats in a warning tone, “Get off me right now.”

I finally force my mouth to open. “Johanna, I-”

I’m flying backward before I even realize she has shoved me, and have to throw my arms behind me and grasp the edge of the bed so I don’t bounce off on the rebound. When I look up, Johanna is standing beside the bed and staring down at me in disdain. This feels familiar. That dream. I brace myself to hear her say she hates me, though I think those words might drive me truly insane at this point. What actually happens is even worse. Johanna is speechless. The only other time I’ve witnessed her at a loss for words was when I’d said me being alive or dead wasn’t her problem, and I’d gladly take the hurt on her face in that moment over her current expression. Johanna’s eyes bounce further into the compartment as she draws in a shaky breath, then she looks back to me. She exhales resignedly and shakes her head before walking past me and out the door.

When I hear the door slide closed, my thoughts come back to me. I blink as I try to process what just happened. I’m so used to Johanna’s penchant for indecency that touching or eyeing up her bare skin didn’t seem to be crossing any kind of line, though I suppose staring at an abnormality on someone is always considered rude. But she hasn’t stripped down in front of me since she was rescued, so maybe the rules changed without me realizing it. The thing is, I should have realized it. I noticed when she changed behind the curtain the morning of her flashback, I noticed how she’d always change into her nightclothes while I was showering, I noticed that said nightclothes always included a shirt even though she usually wore only underwear on her lower half. Johanna passed up so many opportunities to be shirtless in front of me, but in the moment I’d always chalked it up to restraint or loss of interest in shock value or simply luck. I should have realized something was wrong. I should have known. I didn’t want to know.

No, I’m not brainless. I’m just selfish.

Dread starts sapping the tension from all my muscles and ramping up my breathing and heart rates as a new and even worse thought crushes me. By avoiding any acknowledgement of Johanna’s newfound self-consciousness regarding her body, I blinded myself to the altered boundaries regarding it and set myself up to violate them. She may have stripped down fully in front of me multiple times, but I understand now that the area where the scars are visible has become a more private part of her body than her actual, well, private parts. So I might as well have been peeling her underwear back and staring at her naked without her permission. I haven’t just violated some boundaries. I have violated her.

I bury my face in my palms in despair and am struck by the scent of Johanna’s skin lingering on my hands. I nuzzle into them and inhale deeply, smelling it for what I hope is not the last time, as unshed tears begin to sting my eyes. It might be lost to me forever, just like Peeta’s cinnamon and dill. I wouldn’t be surprised. Johanna probably ran off to go check herself back into the hospital just so she doesn’t have to live with me anymore. When I see her at training, she’ll be wearing that same loathing expression, the one that now haunts me perhaps even more than the one Peeta had at dinner whenever he looked at me. They both can’t stand me. Neither can I.

I can’t be alone with my thoughts anymore, so I walk the few feet to Mom and Prim’s compartment to pay them a visit. Prim’s sitting at the table and needs only a glimpse of my face to recognize my troubled mood. She immediately strides over and wraps her arms around my middle, doesn’t let go even when I can only bring myself to hug her weakly in return. She finally pulls back a bit once I relax into her embrace.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her eyes earnest and full of concern. I don’t answer, just run my hand down her cheek before breaking away to go sit at the table. She settles down across from me as I study the columns of playing cards she’s laid out.

“What’s this?” I inquire, partly out of interest but mostly to change the subject.

“Solitary.” She starts studying the cards and adds, “Johanna taught me. It’s a game you play by yourself.”

“As the name implies,” I condescend jokingly. Prim raises her eyes from the table long enough to smirk in return. It’s a few seconds before I muse, “She’s big into card games, huh?”

Prim nods but doesn’t break from the game while explaining. “She told me it rains a lot in Seven and sometimes it’s so bad they have to stop working and go under these shelters out in the forests until it lets up, and there’s not much to do there but play cards. And so everyone knows all these games and it’s a big social thing there, people get together and drink and gamble, or they’ll just play with their families.” She shrugs, still focusing intently on the cards she’s arranging and flipping. “So I stole us a deck from the break room in the hospital.”

I smile, entertained as much as shocked by my supposedly innocent little sister speaking so casually and openly about thieving. I can’t imagine stealing is frowned upon any less in Thirteen than it was in Twelve, so I’m admittedly a little impressed at her guts. As impressed as you can be by someone you basically raised breaking the law, that is. I suppose I wasn’t the best example, what with all my poaching and black market activity.

“When did you become such a rebel?” I tease, kicking her feet under the table.

“Must be genetic,” she deadpans without looking up. I’m torn between amusement at her sass and angst at who it reminds me of.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jo too much,” I remark. I really should stop talking about Johanna. I came over here to distract myself from thoughts of her in particular.

“You’re the one who lives with her.”

I would respond to that, but I’m startled by a thud coming from the sleeping nook. Buttercup appears and I calm when I realize the noise was just him jumping off a bed. He slinks toward us and hisses at me on sight. I make a face at him and Prim looks up in time to see it.

“Maybe he’d like you more if you were nicer to him,” she admonishes me as the big ugly tomcat jumps up onto her lap.

“I brought him to you, didn’t I?” I retort. Buttercup meows obnoxiously and sits up to place his front paws on the table. We glare at each other. “I could have left the little jerk in Twelve.” As if on cue, he reaches out and swipes at the columns of cards, knocking them into disarray and even sending a few to the floor. I snort and shake my head at his antics.

Prim just sighs and says, “Well I _was_ going to offer to show you how to play Solitary.”

“It’s okay,” I reply. “Thanks, though.”

“We could play something else,” she suggests brightly. “There’s lots of games for two people or more. Not all of them involve slapping, either.”

“Slapping someone wouldn’t be the worst thing right now,” I mutter. Prim raises her eyebrows, and I drop my eyes to my suddenly fidgety hands. “I, uh… I saw Peeta today.”

“Where?” she asks. “Did you go up to visit him or did you see him at a meal?” That’s right, Prim’s hospital staff, so she would know how he’s progressing.

“At dinner.” I look up and notice Prim gauging my expression.

“It didn’t go so well?” I shake my head. “Is that why you’re upset?” That’s part of it. Realizing Peeta still despises me even now that he’s getting better was hardly pleasant. His words and opinions don’t hold as much weight as they used to because I’ve had to distance myself from him emotionally to hold onto any last shred of my own sanity, but they still hurt. Johanna’s behavior at dinner was more troublesome because she’s a little more rational and also because we’re closer at the moment. Or we were until she caught me staring at her scars and flipped out.

Shit, I was supposed to not be thinking about this stuff. But maybe if it won’t leave my mind, it’s better to share. Strategically. Prim’s already acknowledged that she doesn’t know what happened to Johanna in the Capitol, and I don’t want to burden Prim with this knowledge or betray Johanna’s trust any more than I seemingly have already. Lamenting that Peeta’s finally seeing me for who I really am hardly seems appropriate either.

“I’ve just been finding out a lot of things I didn’t know before,” I say hesitantly. “And I don’t want to know most of them.”

“Most of them?” Prim prods softly. I consider this for a moment. Have there actually been any pleasant surprises lately?

“Why didn’t anyone tell me she kissed me?” The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I was thinking them, and I slap a hand over my mouth much too late. To Prim’s credit, she just goes on stroking the cat like this is nothing to be fazed by, though she does furrow her brow slightly in confusion.

“Johanna?” she asks. I nod, my eyes still wide in shock at my outburst. “I thought you knew. And why bring it up, anyway? It was just on the cheek, like she was trying to tell you she wasn’t trying to hurt you. That’s part of how I could tell what she was doing.”

I snort and mutter, “I guess that explains why everyone thinks I’m such an idiot for thinking she was trying to kill me.”

“You had a concussion,” she points out. “I don’t think anyone blames you for not understanding her intentions.”

“I rarely understand her intentions even on a good day,” I admit just as the door slides open. I look over my shoulder and see Mom entering the compartment. She smiles and nods, and I respond in kind.

“Good to see you,” she greets me. “I was just about to come by. How are things next door?”

“Fine,” I lie.

“Oh, so you two haven’t destroyed the compartment since I last checked in?” she teases lightly.

“Mom,” I groan with a roll of my eyes while Prim just giggles. That’s the last mention of Johanna during the visit, thankfully. A distraction is best if I can’t safely spill my guts. I’d honestly love to talk to someone about everything that’s plaguing my mind, but even if I felt comfortable sharing everything with Prim, I don’t trust my mother with it. I really should – she’s a healer and has incredible mental fortitude when it comes to patching up victims of lashings, if nothing else. She’s hardly squeamish. But I guess I’m still holding a bit of a grudge. And slipping up and mentioning the kiss in the Quell to Prim didn’t turn out to be a big deal, but I really don’t want to talk to my mother about any feelings or kisses involving Johanna. Or Peeta, for that matter, especially after today.

I return home around ten and am not surprised to find the compartment empty. I’m not sure whether I’m more disappointed to not see Johanna or relieved to be spared the inevitable confrontation. When I emerge from the shower a short time later, I actually jump when I come around the corner to see the girl sitting on her bed engrossed in one of the books I’d left on mine. I guess that means she still lives here, which would be a relief if she would say something to me or even acknowledge my presence. I feel unworthy of initiating a conversation with her after what happened, so I grab another book instead and try to stuff military information into my very preoccupied brain.

I give up a few minutes before 10:30 and curl up on my side. The absence of Johanna’s touch is devastating. I’m cold and on edge and there’s this cramp in my chest that refuses to subside. Great, we haven’t even been sleeping together for a week and I’m already dependent on it; I’m suffering withdrawal from my drug of choice. If this is anything like morphling withdrawal, I can understand why Johanna was such a bitch that one night.

The lights go down and I burrow further under my covers with a sigh, curling up tighter to preserve my own body heat now that no one’s sharing theirs with me. I hear the expected sounds of Johanna dropping her book on the floor and shifting on her bed, quickly followed by the unexpected sound of her feet padding across the floor. It’s only a few steps between our beds, so I don’t even have time to process what the sound means before I feel my covers being lifted and the bed dipping behind me. I shiver with anticipation as Johanna wiggles in and readjusts the covers over us. When she molds her body around mine, the relief is so overwhelming I almost cry aloud. A few silent tears sneak out as it is.

Despite feeling unworthy and like I’m treading on thin ice, I am overcome with the need to say something. A moment ago I felt like everything would be okay again if only she would hold me, and I do feel comforted, but not absolved of my guilt or her anger. As much as I don’t want a confrontation, I’m craving some sort of resolution. And if I have to get yelled at to get it, so be it. I deserve it anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the darkness.

“Don’t.” The soft command makes my gut twist painfully, but I can’t help myself.

“I wasn’t trying to…” Okay, so I was trying to look once I realized there was something to look at, but I didn’t plan to discover those scars. “I was surprised.”

Johanna releases an exasperated groan as I feel her right hand move to my hip to pull herself forward a bit. “You shouldn’t be,” she hisses directly in my ear. “Did you really think all they did was shock me? I even told you, it was _one_ of the things they did to me.” I swallow hard. No, I didn’t think that was all they did. I remember what she looked like when we locked eyes in the hospital right after the rescue mission. I remember it far better than I’d ever want to. I just didn’t consider what specifically they had done to her. It was far too painful to think about. I shake my head and take in a breath to reply, but she cuts me off. “I don’t want to talk about it. There’s a reason I left.” I nod. Johanna says nothing more for the moment but releases my hip and begins to trace her fingers up and down my forearm. My eyes squeeze shut in relief at the casual affectionate contact I was worried I’d lost forever. Finally, she admits, “I know you weren’t trying to embarrass me or remind me of anything. I overreacted.”

“Embarrass you?” I hadn’t been planning to prod further, but this sentiment seems so out of place that I comment on it without thinking. I mull it over for a moment. I mean, sure, the sight wasn’t exactly aesthetically pleasing, but I didn’t think that was why she got so upset. I hesitate a second before assuring her, “You’re still beautiful, Johanna.”

“Of course I am,” she snorts, perhaps a little too confidently. “That’s not what I meant.”

I decide that if she wants to explain what she meant, she’ll elaborate on her own. She doesn’t. Without any words to distract me, the image I’ve recalled now consumes my consciousness completely and hauntingly. Anger suddenly bubbles up in my gut and threatens to choke me. It’s the same righteous anger I recognize from every reaping day, from seeing the ruins of my town, from when I vowed to kill Snow after Peeta attacked me. I tremble with rage at the thought of what that bastard did to her. My mind flashes back to the sight of Gale on my table, his back an unholy mess, the stench of blood permeating the air, his whimpers of pain battering my eardrums and my heart. I shake my head sharply to snap myself back to the present, then find Johanna’s hands and grip them tightly. Comforting her is all I can do to help. There’s nothing I can do to change the past. But there is something I can do in the future. Vengeance. I crave it now more than ever.

“Jo?” She hums a sound of acknowledgement. “I’m going to kill him.” I know I don’t have to specify who I mean. We both know who the real enemy is.

“Not if I get to him first,” she declares.

I flip over, search her eyes, and slide my hand over her side to caress her back, a gesture that now holds much more meaning. She tenses slightly because she no doubt understands this as well, but she doesn’t protest or pull away. I consider what she just said. Gale was right about suffering and glory. While Johanna’s district was not destroyed like mine, she holds an edge on me in personal suffering when it comes to the rights to Snow’s life, so I can hardly be selfish about this. If it was actually about glory rather than personal satisfaction, I’d give her the honor no question. Her terms are more than reasonable. And I do love a good competition, especially with her.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give credit where it's due, I'd like to mention that a post on the jonissheadcanons Tumblr gave me the idea to use a massage where someone's getting sexually frustrated as a vehicle to reveal the scars I'd been hinting at since chapter 2. I'd link to it but I'm bad at technology and am not even sure that's allowed. What I ended up writing was quite different, but it gave me the idea so I thought I'd mention it. Thanks also to District_7_Profanity for picking my brain and giving me inspiration for deepening a lot of the relationships between various characters.
> 
> The "wanna play" thing is a line that was cut from Catching Fire, for anyone who doesn't know. If you've watched all of the special features, you may have already seen/heard the shot of Jena saying that.
> 
> UPDATE: I added a couple of things to the lead-up to the dining hall scene. A few sentences and nothing major, just a clarification and a short exchange I cut out in my original final edit, but I figured I should alert the readers to the change because this chapter has been up for almost 24 hours.


	6. War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. Those of you who follow me on tumblr may know that I've been dealing with a concussion and that that was impeding my progress on this chapter. Honestly, getting this polished and ready for publication was more than I should have been doing and it hasn't been helping my recovery, but it was mostly done and I wanted it off my plate. The next update will probably be a long ways away, sometime in the new year. I have chapter 7 outlined and I may write little bits as I feel inspired, but my editing process is very demanding in terms of brainpower so I probably won't work on it aggressively until I'm feeling a lot better. Thanks in advance for your patience and understanding. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all - your comments help keep my mood up even when things get rough, and for that, I am grateful.
> 
> Trigger warnings for violence, non-graphic descriptions of torture, and PTSD.

A light breeze blowing over my neck drags me out of my slumber, and my eyes flutter open to the unfamiliar view of Johanna’s empty bed. I drop my gaze to the pressure on my chin and confirm that Johanna’s forehead is pressed against it and the puffs of air are coming from her mouth. I pull back just a touch from her head that’s resting on my upper arm so I can get a better view of her face in the dim light. Johanna’s truly adorable when she’s asleep. Unmasked, she looks just like any other girl, only exceptionally beautiful. Just like any other girl, until her brow furrows and it occurs to me that it was the increase in her frequency and depth of breathing that woke me up. I register her hand clutching the material over my shoulder blade just as the first whimper bursts out of her throat.

“Shhh,” I whisper, running the hand of my pinned arm over her scalp and the other along her back. Her face twists in pain, though whether it’s of the physical or psychological variety within the dream, I can’t tell. “Jo, you’re okay,” I continue softly. “You’re okay.” A shudder runs through her, but the telltale noises stop. I graze my left hand down her arm and slowly work the tension out of her hand until her fist loosens enough to extricate it, then I ease myself onto my back so she is resting partially on top of me. Jo stirs sleepily and nuzzles into my collarbone before relaxing again.

I examine the body lying on top of mine and feel a sudden pang of longing. I haven’t held Johanna like this since the night of her flashback. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but she always took the lead and rolled me over to face the wall before spooning me from behind. And I liked that too and didn’t want to risk upsetting her and making her stop altogether, so I cooperated. But being allowed to hold her in her vulnerable state is a privilege I have missed, though I’m not quite sure why I lost it. Maybe I’d never earned it to begin with, and she’d just turned to me at the time because I was the nearest available warm body. That fear has never quite left me because her behavior since that night hasn’t done much to contradict it.

I decide to enjoy it while it lasts, and rake my nails through the down on her scalp, tuck my chin and rest my lips against her forehead. Johanna shifts again and cups her hand around my breast. I roll my eyes emphatically out of equal parts frustrated arousal and prudish annoyance, but say nothing and don’t attempt to move her. My eyes flick back down to the hand in question and narrow when they detect a new detail as they adjust to the dim light. The grunge caked under her fingernails is gone. A wave of guilt rolls over me as I recall one more way I made her self-conscious last night, obviously so if she chose to scrub under her nails while off sulking after my discovery. I move both hands to her back to support her gently when I feel and hear her breathing slow and deepen as she is lulled back into a deeper sleep.

It’s maybe twenty minutes later when the lights turn up and Johanna’s eyes reflexively squeeze tighter shut to block it out, but this wakes her and she releases an obnoxiously loud yawn. Her eyes blink open and settle on my face, and a soft smile forms on her mouth for a moment before confusion overtakes her expression when she notices our positioning. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I tease. I can’t resist the chance to get back at her for all the times she’s embarrassed me, so I direct my gaze pointedly at her hand with a big smirk. Her eyes flick down to my chest and she abruptly pulls the hand down to my lower ribcage, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. My smirk grows yet wider, but she doesn’t see it because she doesn’t look up before rolling off of me onto her back and squirming to release herself from the hold I still have on her with my right arm. My mouth drops out of disappointment but also insult. I guess I still don’t have that privilege.

“Morning, Everdeen,” she finally grunts, eyes on the ceiling.

The sudden awkward tension is grating on me, so I turn onto my side and force myself to grin as I prod, “What, Mason? You only grope people in your sleep? What fun is that?” Oh, wow. That’s probably the most overtly sexual thing I’ve ever said.

Seemingly unruffled, Johanna just rubs her eyes and asks, “You have a good night?” This is wrong. The Jo I know would turn to face me and say something even more scandalous to outdo me and make sure I was blushing even harder than she was. She might even go so far as to agree it’s no fun and grope me again. Maybe I’m overreacting, but after ignoring the warning signs of her diminished body confidence, I’m extra vigilant for small changes in her behavior. The irony doesn’t escape me; one would expect her sexual comments and flirting to make me uncomfortable, not a lack thereof.

I don’t even bother trying to hide my suddenly sour mood when I scoff and mutter, “Hardly,” dropping down onto my back. Johanna chuckles bitterly next to me, and I turn my head so I can see her again. The mask I’d loved seeing her without earlier this morning is back up in full force. Great. What the hell did I do this time?

“Mine could have been better too,” Johanna contributes, though there doesn’t seem to be any venom behind the statement. The vacant sorrow in her eyes troubles me, so I swallow back my spite and consciously soften my expression.

“You go and see Finnick?” I ask gently.

“Peeta.” She quickly glances over to catch my expression before I have time to hide my surprise. 

I blink and shake my head, not really sure what to say. “So, what, are you guys actually friends now?” I query, surprised at the edge of bitterness in my mostly perplexed tone. I hope Johanna doesn’t notice it. If she does, she doesn’t comment on it.

“No,” she answers quietly. “But he understands.” Her words from last night resound in my head. I have no idea what they went through. I guess they only have each other to lean on in that sense. Annie was there, but who knows what she saw or heard? In any case, she wasn’t part of the torture. Peeta might actually be Johanna’s closest and most useful ally now. That explains why she was being so nice to him last night. By her standards, anyway.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, “Have you visited him before?”

“No,” she replies. But then she fully turns her head to me and a hard expression comes over her face. “But then again, _we_ were never that close,” she adds pointedly.

They were never that close? As opposed to who? Her glare quickly answers that question for me. She thinks I abandoned Peeta. Clearly she doesn’t know about all the times I made the trek through the hospital to his room and peeked in through the one-way mirror. But neither does Peeta, so if Johanna or anyone else asked, he’d say I’d never visited. I guess I set myself up for this misunderstanding, but I could never let him see me. The way he looked at me when he attacked me was horrifying, and the thought of seeing it again was too painful to bear. My eyes begin to sting and blur. I blink away the sign of weakness and ask with as little emotion as possible, “Why are you mad at me for how I treated him?”

“Feels familiar,” she answers coldly. I’m puzzled, and this must show because she rolls her eyes and explains, “You never came to visit me either. And I didn’t even hate you like he does.”

“I thought you did,” I counter.

“I kind of do,” she concedes sassily. Her sudden levity disappears just as quickly when she continues, “But I still would have liked to see you. See how you were. Know you were at least pretending to be concerned about how I was.” That strikes a nerve. Partly because it’s true that I didn’t think much about her condition before I was thrown into a hospital room with her, and partly because her attitude toward it isn’t entirely fair.

“Well it’s not like I was in any state to visit anyone,” I bite back, propping myself up on my forearm to glare down at her. “Peeta put me in the hospital that same night and then I went to Two almost right away after I was discharged. And who was the first person I saw when I got back? You. And as I recall, you were just thrilled to see me.”

“Like you ever go where you’re told to. You wouldn’t have even had to leave the hospital to come say hello. Or wave hello,” she adds with a distasteful smirk. “And you didn’t even bother.”

I narrow my eyes and retort, “You know what, Mason? I am _so_ sorry you weren’t the first thing on my mind after one of my closest friends tried to murder me. I’m sorry I didn’t come check up on you after you saved my life.” Despite my sarcastic tone, I mean that second one. “It’s not like I didn’t give a shit about how you were, but I was a little preoccupied with what happened to Peeta.”

“Of course you were,” she says dismissively, turning her face to the ceiling again.

A frustrated groan barrels out of my throat. This woman will be the death of me, I swear to god. “Okay,” I snap, sitting up fully, “so first you’re mad I don’t care about him enough, and now you’re mad I care about him too much?” Johanna doesn’t answer, and I just throw my hands in the air. “You’re impossible!” I shout as I clamber over her. I steady myself on the edge of the bed and drop to the floor, immediately yanking open the dresser with much more force than necessary and digging out my clothes.

As I get dressed, I try to come up with a better response. I want to defend my actions regarding Peeta, but if I tell her I went to go observe him, I’d be proving her right in her opposite argument. I did get up to go visit someone, it just wasn’t her. Johanna wasn’t strapped down to a bed in a room with a one-way mirror. If I came to see her, she’d know it. I’d rather her think of me as selfish or absent-minded than as someone who doesn’t care about her, so I say nothing. Things were more than a little complex at the time, and I don’t want her to mistake her low priority for complete indifference.

I stomp down to the main room and stick my arm in the tattooing machine. Once I feel the stamp release, I give my schedule a quick scan as I start for the door. I halt abruptly when my eyes settle on 12:30 - Advanced Tactics, followed by 13:30 – S.S.C., and my mood suddenly brightens.

“Jo?” I call over to my bed. Johanna just grunts, so I return to the bedside and shake her shoulder. “Johanna, get up. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Johanna groans and opens her eyes. “See what?” I lean across her and drop my forearm into her line of sight. She squints and grasps it at the wrist and elbow, and then her mouth and eyes pop open. “No fucking way!” she grins. “York wasn’t kidding!”

“I thought we’d be waiting longer,” I admit.

“Me too.” Johanna rolls out of bed and sweeps me aside to make her way to the machine. I follow and peek over her shoulder as she pulls her arm out. “Same,” she tells me.

“Not quite,” I reply, reaching around her to compare our schedules side by side. “You’re back on the shooting range at 15:30. I’m in Command.”

“Right,” she chuckles bitterly, turning her face to mine that’s only inches away. “I’m sure the Mockingjay has more important things to do than train for the invasion.”

My face contorts in displeasure. I honestly would much rather be shooting than attending one of the meetings in Command that usually bore me to tears. Not that I really need the practice. “Or maybe you’re just a lousy shot,” I retort sharply.

Johanna scoffs and heads back to the sleeping nook. “You don’t need to be a good shot, Everdeen,” she calls over her shoulder. “You just need to look pretty for the cameras.”

I quietly fume as she bends over to pull her training clothes out of the dresser. She doesn’t get it at all. I’d think she would understand, what with all the time we’ve been spending together lately, but she doesn’t. I notice where my eyes have landed and silently curse myself. I can’t even get mad at this girl without checking her out.

“Johanna,” I growl, stalking up behind her, “do you really think that’s who I am, who I want to be? I don’t want to be admired for how I look. Fuck, I don’t even want to be the Mockingjay! It should have been you. Or Gale, even.”

“Yes,” she snarls as she straightens up and swivels to face me. “It should have been me.” Pain flickers in her angry eyes as she adds with an acerbic smirk, “But instead, I was in the Capitol, because I sacrificed my ass so they could pull you out and parade _you_ around as the ‘noble savior of Panem.’” She uses her free hand to accentuate that last bit with air quotes, and I feel my own anger rising up in my gut to meet hers. “And you don’t even want to do it!” she finishes wearily. “You don’t give a damn about the revolution.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Johanna?” I demand, taking a threatening step closer. “Of course I care about the revolution. I want Snow dead as much as anybody.”

“Bullshit, Katniss!” she yells in my face. “You don’t give two fucks! We all saw you smiling and waving with that ‘Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever’ bullshit! Hardly someone who cares about the revolution at all, let alone enough to be its figurehead.”

“You know, not everyone can go around spouting off anti-government bullshit whenever they want, cussing out the president like who the fuck cares,” I parry. “Not everybody has that luxury!” I narrow my eyes and spit out, “There’s a reason Finnick was still fucking every Capitol person who would pay for him. Pardon us for playing the game because we still have people to protect.”

The sudden pain in Johanna’s eyes is overshadowed by the spike of fury evident in her sharp intake of breath and the color and contortions of her face. She closes what little gap still remains between us. “Yeah, but that’s all you care about, that’s the problem! Protecting your loved ones at the expense of everyone else, at the expense of your own morals. You’re a coward.” Her eyes take on a deadly focus and she sneers, “Prim told me you were getting ready to run right after the Victory Tour. Some noble hero you are!” She jabs two fingers into the flesh above my heart and growls, “You’re not selfless like they all think.” With that, she turns and heads for the bathroom.

I snort out a cynical laugh as I follow in her wake. “Like you’re one to talk about morals!” I retaliate with venom, grabbing Johanna’s shoulder and spinning her to face me just before she reaches the bathroom door. “My apologies that the people found me more inspiring, but killing a bunch of kids is hardly going to instigate a rebellion. That’s the point of the Games, and you went along with it.” That earns me a vicious slap to the face, so quick a strike I have no chance to brace myself.

“Fuck you, you entitled, arrogant little brat!” she seethes. “What do you know about anything? You’re just a stupid child.”

I blink back tears from the sting of her hand and words and throw on my best impassive face. “I thought you said I’m not a kid,” I point out, barely reining in my voice enough to keep it from cracking at the end. 

I think I can make out a shadow of regret in Johanna’s expression, but maybe I’m imagining it because all she does is scoff, “You survived your Games, so you’re an adult in some sense, sure. But how can you truly grow up when you have everything handed to you like you have?”

“Handed to me?” I absorb this ridiculous accusation and shake my head in disbelief. “No, you know what, Johanna? You’re the one who doesn’t know anything. You think you do, but you don’t. You know nothing about my life, only what the cameras showed you.” She raises a challenging eyebrow. “I told you, I lost my childhood long before I was reaped.”

I take a step closer, forcing her to step back against the wall. “My father died when I was eleven, and my mother might as well have too. She was useless for a few years, except worse, because she was another mouth to feed. If we could even make her eat at all. I wasn’t old enough to sign up for tesserae, and we had no income. We almost starved, so many times. I thought we were all going to die!” I suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth and continue, “In the spring, I remembered how my father had taught me how to hunt…” I squeeze my eyes shut at the painful memories of my father and of how I remembered about the hunting, how I regained hope. The boy with the bread.

I take a few seconds to collect myself, surprised but impressed that Johanna doesn’t interrupt. I open my eyes to see her intrigued ones squinting into mine. She blinks and nods for me to continue. “I braved the woods and did my best,” I explain, “gathered fruit and katniss roots and took down the animals I could manage to. If the wrong Peacekeeper had seen me, I could have been flogged, killed, anything. And then Prim would have died for sure.” I swallow the emotion bubbling up at the thought. “Eventually I turned twelve, got the tesserae, and met Gale, and that all helped, but supporting my family was still on my back, always has been.” I take in a shaky breath and lean in a bit closer. “Did Prim tell you all that?” I sneer.

Johanna finally speaks. All she says is, “No. Just that you took good care of her.”

I nod scornfully. “I’ve had to be an adult for even longer than you, I’ll bet. Or were you the head of your household at fifteen?” Johanna drops her eyes and doesn’t answer. I grab her by the collar of her shirt and pin her up against the wall, snapping her gaze back up. My eyes bore into hers and I spit, “So don’t you dare call me a child!”

Johanna’s expression briefly morphs into one I recognize, the same look she got when I shoved and cussed her out last week. She pulls her mask back up almost immediately, but not before I catch the variant of that look. That turned on look, or seductive look, or whatever it is. But unfortunately, the brief glimpse of it causes the same reaction in me, and I suddenly have to suppress the urge to sandwich her between my body and the wall and kiss her violently. This only makes me angrier. I pull Johanna toward me and slam her against the wall one more time. “Fuck you!” are my parting words to her as I release her and turn to storm out of the compartment.

I only start to feel the throbbing in my cheek and my temples by the time I’m halfway to the dining hall and my adrenaline has started to abate. I ignore everyone and everything in my path in favor of the pains in my face and my chest, where Johanna’s spiteful barbs seem to have punctured me deep within. My stomach joins the cacophony of aches when it twists at the memory of the hurt in her face as the fight escalated to the point where she slapped me, but the slapping part itself allows me the indignance to shrug off any guilt. At least for now.

When I exit the food line and see my mother and sister already seated, it finally occurs to me that I’d been divulging our intimate family drama within earshot of their compartment. If they are already here, they probably didn’t hear that part, but I can’t be sure because I also didn’t hear them leave. I’m suddenly afraid to sit with them. Gale hasn’t arrived yet. Finnick and Annie have, but Johanna is going to sit with them so they are not an option. My eyes search farther than my usual scope and land on my former escort and mentor sitting across the room with Beetee. The least intimidating option available, I make my way toward them.

I step around Beetee’s empty wheelchair and ease myself down beside him as unobtrusively as possible. Despite my concerted effort not to draw attention to myself, Haymitch openly stares at my face once his eyes float over to acknowledge my presence. I shrivel under his gaze, finally aware enough of my surroundings to feel self-conscious. This is like when everyone I passed in the hallways stared at the bruises from Peeta’s fingers on my neck. I know for sure now that Johanna left some kind of mark on me.

“What the hell happened to you?” I roll my eyes at his questioning face, shake my head. He doesn’t drop the expression, and I quickly become aware of Effie peering at me in concern as well. Beetee, who is sitting to my left and has the best view, at least has the decency to pretend to be focused on his food.

My eyes bounce back to Haymitch and I see him staring at something beyond me, so I instinctively glance over my shoulder. Johanna is finally dressed and stalking toward the food line, wearing a troubled but faraway frown. She seems to sense our gaze and looks our way, but when her eyes settle on me she quickly averts them. I turn back to Haymitch in time to see a look dawning on his face. “Well, shit.” I automatically glance at Effie, half-expecting her to jump into a lecture over his language, but she seems completely unruffled by it and is still focused on me. I scowl.

“Where are your manners, Miss Trinket?” I chirp in an exaggerated Capitol accent. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?”

“Leave her out of this.” Haymitch picks up his tray and rounds the corner. On his way by me, he gives my shirt a tug and says, “Let’s you and me have a talk.” Last time he said that, he dropped a bomb on me. I’m not sure I can withstand another, but nonetheless I slide down to the next corner seat so I’m beside him. I hesitantly look up to see Haymitch cocking an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks just before taking a bite of crunchy toast slathered in red jam.

“Paradise?” I scoff.

“This whole living arrangement thing was your idea, sweetheart,” he argues around the mouthful of gooey bread. He swallows it and adds, “You must have had some reason for suggesting it.”

“I owe Johanna.” 

“Right, of course you do,” he responds blandly. “Anything else?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I can feel a blush infiltrating my cheeks, but do my best to keep a straight face as Haymitch chuckles.

“I know you never listen to a thing anyone tells you, but I’m going to give you a very important piece of advice all the same.” He leans in just as I finish rolling my eyes and places a firm hand on my forearm to convey his seriousness. “Johanna is not one to be toyed with,” he warns me. “She’s the way she is for a reason. Like all of us.”

“She’s the one who does all the toying,” I object. “She’s always trying to get under my skin, you know that. It’s not like I’m picking fights.” I drop my face into my hands and wince at the pressure on my tender cheekbone. “I don’t know what happened, Haymitch,” I lament into my palms. “I was frustrated and I let her push me and I pushed back and it all went to hell in an instant.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I lift my face a bit and scrunch it up at him in a silent question. “Johanna has a lot of what her head doctor would call ‘abandonment issues.’ She’s lost everyone she’s ever cared about, as she told you. But instead of chasing new connections, she holds people at a distance because she’s afraid anyone she lets in will leave her or get taken away. You’ve probably noticed this.” I nod. I have assumed for quite some time that that was at least part of the reason for her antisocial behavior, though I’m happy to hear I wasn’t imagining it. Haymitch grasps my arm again, recapturing my full attention. “So it’s no wonder you scare her,” he reasons earnestly. My jaw and stomach drop.

“I scare Johanna Mason?” I ask dramatically, hoping to deflect the conversation from where I fear it is headed. I lean in and stage whisper, “Have you found a secret stash of alcohol somewhere?” Haymitch doesn’t take the bait.

“Johanna doesn’t hedge her bets, Katniss. She’s passionate and intense, and when she does grab hold of something, she can’t be pried off.” He lifts a meaningful eyebrow. “Or someone.” My cheeks heat up to some shade of crimson in a mixture of indignance at his assumptions and embarrassment at their accuracy, at least from my end of things. He stares into my wide eyes and cautions, “If you know what’s good for you, don’t start anything with her you’re not planning to finish.”

I turn my attention to my plate and stab at my scrambled eggs. Haymitch lets me eat in silence for a few moments, but then slaps me every bit as hard as Johanna, only verbally. “I know it must be nice to have a distraction from the boy,” he says, “but if you’re trying to escape your relationship drama, you’ve really gone to the wrong place.”

I swivel on my rear to face him fully and brandish my fork mere inches from his face. “Fuck you, Haymitch!” I snarl.

He just laughs and swats my hand away, takes a swig of orange juice and says, “I think we can both agree we’re not going to tell him.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I reply irritably, glowering down at my tray.

“I know things haven’t exactly gone well the last few times you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go into a jealous rage if he saw you with someone else,” Haymitch continues, unfazed.

“Haymitch.” I lean toward him and annunciate each word. “Peeta does not want to be with me.” I deflate and mutter, “He hates me.”

“Hate and love aren’t so different, you know. No one in their right mind could say he’s ‘over you.’ You’re still all he thinks about.” I’m pummeled by guilt for the second time this morning. Haymitch is right; Peeta does still think of me all the time. He was always more invested in me than I was in him, but I think about him even less now. I like to think it’s healthy for me to get some space from the situation, but I know it’s not really fair to him. It was never fair. “Have you thought about what could happen if he does recover and you are already in this… situation?” Haymitch asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “I mean, you already basically left him to rot.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” I snap.

“Have you considered his feelings at all in this matter?” he inquires, still frustratingly calm and pious.

“What, are you saying I owe him something? That I should get back with him just because it’s expected?” Johanna’s sentiments are spilling out of me now. But I think that’s something she was actually right about, so I don’t mind. “Why should I stay with a boy I never loved when the Capitol can’t force me to anymore? If I have a chance to get off this train, I’m going to take it. I want my life back, Haymitch. _My_ life.” I pause for a breath and am taken aback by my mentor’s expression. He looks impressed, maybe even… proud? I steel my resolve all the same and declare, “So for once, I’m going to take what I want.”

Haymitch still seems pleased, yet cocks a concerned eyebrow. “Just make sure you know what you want,” he advises me. “Too many hearts at stake. The last thing the rebellion needs is a civil war within itself. Johanna especially is not someone you want to hurt.” He leans in closer and predicts ominously, “You destroy her, and she’ll take you down with her.” If she burns, I burn with her. No pressure or anything.

I squirm and push fried potatoes around my plate for a moment while I summon the courage to ask, “You really think she likes me like that?” I look up cautiously. I was trying not to sound too hopeful, but I fear my vulnerability is written on my face.

“Of course she does,” he assures me with a look that says not to be stupid. “You got under her skin enough to hurt her feelings.” He touches my cheek, and I recoil slightly with a wince. “Not to mention the striptease thing. Rest assured, that wasn’t for me.”

“I think I might have fucked it all up,” I admit. It’s not the welt and the fight it came from that really bothers me. That at least shows some feeling on her part. It’s her brushing off my attempt to flirt this morning, which admittedly contributed to my irritability that led to the fight. I fear I lost something irretrievable when I pulled down her collar last night. Her demeanor was still playful as recently as the wrestling match before Reflection, so I don’t know what else I could have done to cause that shift in her behavior.

“No,” Haymitch disagrees, fortunately interrupting yet another one of my downward spirals of overthinking. He smirks and clarifies, “The two of you… that’s fucked up from the start.” His eyes dance teasingly, and a small smile sneaks onto my face against my will.

“Thanks for the advice, Haymitch,” I snort with a mock glare.

He raises his glass. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

***

“Mason, report your position,” orders the robotic voice of our squadron leader.

“Ten feet northwest of back door of target,” her voice crackles in my earpiece. “On west wall of alley, shielded on north by dumpster. Hinges are on south side of door, should have clear view of any fleeing occupants. In position for apprehension if necessary.” Damn, Johanna’s military-speak is kind of sexy. I smile to myself and peek my head slightly through the dirty shards that are left of the window to catch a glimpse of her on the street below me. All I can really see is her helmet and that she is crouched with her gun already trained intently on the door. I wish I could see the focus in her eyes.

“Soldier Everdeen, do you copy?”

“What?” I respond. Johanna starts to tip her head up to look at me, and I immediately pull myself completely back into the apartment. Shit. I need to get it together, treat this just like a real battle, like they said. In the Capitol, the last thing on my mind will be Johanna’s sex appeal. I hope. If I even get there, which would be much more likely if I would fucking pay attention. “Yes, I copy.”

“Everdeen, report your position,” he says for what I assume is the second time.

“Second story of opposite block of apartments. Twelve feet northwest of back door of target, ten feet above street level. Covering Mason’s south and east flanks,” I ramble. “Sir!” I tack on at the end for good measure.

“Stand by for East team final preparations.” And so we lie in wait. For perhaps the first time today, I have a chance to stop and think. Maybe this mission would feel just as fast-paced as our previous ones if we were on the other side of the building with the rest of our squad of eight, but for now all I have to do is watch out for Peacekeepers in the back alley and on nearby rooftops. 

My gaze drops back down to my partner for a moment, though my mind is actually elsewhere for once. My conversation with Haymitch is still eating at me. His accusations of my poor treatment of Peeta, sure, but more so what I’d said in response. Did I really never love him? Certainly never in the way I was told I’d one day love a boy. I loved how he admired and comforted me. I love him as a person. But the churning in my gut, the heat under my skin, the inappropriately-timed daydreams, those are only provoked by the victor crouching in the alley below me. Too bad she’s a bitch and rarely makes me feel admired. And these feelings are the antithesis of comfortable. Haymitch was right about at least one thing: it is fucked up.

“Mason, confirm West team’s status,” says Mr. Robot. I roll my eyes. As the sniper and thus the one with the best view, I thought I’d be asked that question, but I can hardly expect that since I screwed up our communication only moments ago.

“West team ready,” Johanna verifies.

“Eastern offensive commencing in twenty seconds.” I consciously draw in my focus and start breathing in a steady pattern, preparing to shoot at any instant. It’s become clear over the last couple of hours that just about anything that can go wrong in the Block will go wrong, so I’m extra vigilant. I step to the other side of the window to scan the rooftops of the government-occupied territory to the north and then check over my shoulder for a surprise attack from inside my building before returning to my assigned post in time for the raid.

The crack of the target home’s front door being forced open echoes over to us, followed by a cacophony of voices and a few bursts of gunfire, but nothing happens on our side. My stomach turns uneasily and an ominous chill creeps up my neck. It can’t be this easy. But then I hear the creak above my head, and my stomach jolts. My experience as both hunter and prey kicks in and I don’t even freeze, I just calmly whisper, “Johanna, get back tight against the wall.” She doesn’t answer. “Mason, do you copy?” When I’m still met with silence, I dare to lean forward enough to scan the street directly below me.

My stomach drops. Johanna has crept several feet out from the wall in anticipation of fleeing enemies to capture. She is easily visible from the rooftop above me and will be dead in seconds if she doesn’t move. Not dead dead, but Block dead, and in the moment that feels just as real. “Mason!” I hiss one more time into my mouthpiece, panic spreading out in my chest. It’s no use; our communicators have been scrambled, or maybe mine is just dead, but either way she can’t hear me. I hear a creak from the ledge of the roof and decide it’s better to give away my position than watch her get fake shot.

“Johanna, hit the wall!” I shout, and then shoot up into the roof just beyond me as I hear simultaneous gunfire roar from above. The Peacekeeper lets out a theatrical scream before dropping to the roof with a thud. It pulls me out of the scenario for a second with a soft laugh, but the sound of Johanna cussing below me swiftly draws me back in. I poke my head out and see her grasping her right foot and trying to scoot back the remaining two feet to the wall. Shit. On the bright side, I probably did save her from getting shot dead.

“Position compromised!” I hear her shout from the street, but it doesn’t reach my earpiece. “Squadron leader, this is Mason. Do you copy?” I already know he doesn’t copy. It’s not just my equipment conveniently malfunctioning; the only successful communication was the one from the program informing her she’d been shot in the foot. I swipe the butt of my gun along the window frame to knock away the remaining shards, taking care to sweep them into the apartment instead of onto the street and possibly Johanna, before bracing my left hand on the frame and hopping out onto the dumpster, rifle still cocked in my right hand. I flatten out on my back and do a quick sweep of the surrounding rooftops through my scope, then wriggle to the edge and ease myself over.

Johanna startles as I drop down beside her, but thankfully holds her fire. That would have been embarrassing. “You’re hurt,” she observes, squinting her eyes in concern as I shrink down into a squat. I follow them to my left hand and see the gash across the heel of my palm. There’s a decent amount of blood, but it doesn’t look all that deep, and to be honest I didn’t even feel any pain until she pointed it out.

“Not like you,” I brush her off, gesturing toward her foot.

“No, I mean you’re _actually_ hurt,” she says, grabbing my hand and taking a closer look. I wince in reaction to her pulling a fragment of glass out, knock her hand away as she tries to pick at another.

“Leave it,” I order her, “you’ll just increase the bleeding.” I point at the fresh stream already making its way over my wrist. “I do know a thing or two about field medicine,” I explain with a comical arrogance. “My mother’s a healer, you know.” Johanna can’t entirely suppress her grin in response to mine. I lose myself in her eyes for a second before I remember we’re in a war zone. I drag her tighter up against the wall and scan the nearby rooftops for signs of Peacekeepers.

She follows my gaze, spots the window I’d jumped from and points up at it. “Why would you even do that?” she asks blankly.

“We’re supposed to behave like this is an actual combat scenario, duh brainless. You’re the one acting out an injury.”

A spray of gunfire sounds from a rooftop to the northwest, and I automatically pull Johanna toward me and the dumpster as I propel myself backward into cover. We lie still on the gravel-speckled pavement for a few seconds before she raises her face from my stomach and catches my eye. We both freeze, acutely aware of her positioning between my legs. I start to wrack my brain for the perfect innuendo, but the sound of more shouting and gunfire from within our target building snaps us back to the scenario at hand.

“Were you hit?” I ask. She shakes her head, so I stand up and pull her to her feet. Well, foot. “Shoot from back here, distract him,” I instruct her. I slip away before she can argue and creep along the east side of the dumpster. I pop my head up and take out the enemy with one shot, but almost don’t notice the next one racing around the corner to the northeast. I barely sidestep her fire before leveling her with a burst of my own. “Position compromised, no shit!” I yell to Jo as I back up to join her. “We have to get out of here.”

“You have to get out of here,” she corrects me. I turn to her with wide eyes and she explains, “I won’t make it, not with a bad foot. I’ll take my chances here and shoot anyone who comes out. Hopefully our squad breaks out the back door before one of these idiot Peacekeepers can make an accurate shot.”

“They won’t,” I say with a shake of my head. “They have no idea you’re in trouble. You need to come with me.”

“We can’t abandon our post without permission,” she reminds me.

“We can’t even ask with broken radios; it’s a judgment call,” I argue. “Besides, I don’t think anyone’s running out the back door. They’re armed and fighting in there.”

“So you go. I’ll be out in the open for too long if I try to run, it’s safer for me to stay here anyway.”

“That’s why I’m going to carry you,” I explain.

“Over my dead body.” Her eyes burn dangerously, but I refuse to back down.

“Johanna Mason, you are retreating with me even if I have drag you away kicking and screaming,” I declare in no uncertain terms. But still she shakes her head. This is ridiculous. I have no time to argue with this asshole.

“I’m of no use-” is all she gets out before I punch her square in the nose, sending her crashing back against the dumpster. She immediately drops her gun and grabs at her face with both hands, blinking in surprise and to hold back the automatic tears. She doubles over, lets out a strangled cry and sucks in a breath through her teeth before raising her head and yelling, “Holy mother of fuck, Everdeen! What was that for?”

“For being a stubborn little shit,” I inform her matter-of-factly. “Next time, it’ll be your eye. Now pick up your gun, let’s go.”

Her shoulders sag and eyes plead with me as she starts, “Katniss-”

“No!” I interrupt firmly. “I’m not leaving you. Not again.” I know this is all pretend, but I have a point to prove. I quickly devise a way to soften the blow to her ego while I reach down for her rifle and slip it into the holster on my back. “Besides, I need your help to get out of here. I’m going to retreat to rebel territory by running backward along the east wall of the alley so I can deal with shooters to the north, but I need you to cover my left flank and pick off anyone on the western rooftops. Use your handgun.” I grab under her armpit, turn and hoist her onto my back before she can attempt to argue again. Her knees lock around my waist compliantly.

I tell her, “Hold on.”

***

“Why do you always have to be the hero, Everdeen?”

We must look like a couple of schoolchildren sitting outside the principal’s office after a scuffle: fuming on opposite sides of a wooden bench, bloody gauze in our hands. We’re actually just waiting to see my mother, but she probably won’t be too pleased with us either. I roll my head that’s leaning back against the wall so I can look at Johanna, hunched over with her forearms on her knees a few feet to my left. These are the first words she’s spoken since I put her on my back in the Block.

“You’re my partner, Johanna,” I sigh wearily. “I couldn’t leave you behind even if they ordered me to.”

“I appreciate your intentions,” she mutters tersely, eyes on her fidgeting hands, “but it’s fucking embarrassing. It was bad enough when you carried me off the shooting range.”

“Oh, really?” I challenge her. “I don’t remember you complaining at the time.”

“It was a moment of weakness,” she states unequivocally. She finally turns her head to catch my eye. “That’s not who I want to be. And the last thing I need right now is one more reason for the doctors or the military to view me as weak.”

I narrow my eyes. “It’s okay to need help sometimes, Johanna,” I say much softer than my expression would suggest. She looks back to the bloody dressing in her hand, and I assure her, “We all do, at some point.”

She shakes her head and rubs at the tacky blood staining her chin. “I can’t have you risking your life for me.”

“Why not?” I demand, finally peeling myself off the wall to grab her wrist. “You did for me, and in real life, no less.”

“I’m not you!” she all but shouts, frustration tainting her voice as she snatches her arm away. Why, because I’m the Mockingjay? My eyes roll of their own accord. I doubt I’ll ever understand this girl.

“If you think you’re so much better than me and you should have been the face of the revolution, why do you value my life above your own?” I think it’s a fair enough question, but Johanna must find conversing with me to be some huge chore because she just sighs tiredly and lets her shoulders droop.

“Because I’ve already had to,” she mutters, scuffing her foot on the floor. She catches my curious gaze after a moment and suddenly straightens back up, her dead eyes icing over. “Look, I don’t want you to reinforce your bad habits. You’re always trying to save everyone even when it’s dangerous and the odds are stacked against you. One day your luck is gonna run out and you’re going to get yourself killed. You have to start playing it smarter, brainless.”

I growl through closed lips. “You’re impossible. You keep saying I abandoned you, but now you’re mad at me for sticking with you when you were hurt and evacuating you safely? I can’t win, can I?”

“I don’t want your pity, Everdeen,” she snaps.

“That’s hilarious,” I snort sarcastically. I catch her dirty look but continue, “I thought you wanted me to acknowledge your suffering. Isn’t that why you were being such an attention whore last night?” Her eyes flash with anger, but she blinks it away with a wry chuckle and slumps back against the wall. “Do you really not want to talk about it?”

“Does it matter?” she sulks. “You obviously want to talk about it.”

“No,” I answer immediately. Johanna snorts to herself, and I quickly backpedal, “I mean, yes.” She turns her head and squints at me. “I mean, I want you to know I’m here for you. If you want to talk about it.”

“But you don’t really want to hear it,” she says sadly. The damp darkness in her eyes steals any words I’d been forming in my brain. “Don’t kid yourself, Katniss. If you wanted to hear about it, you would have visited us in the hospital. You would have stayed at that table and listened to whatever Peeta had to say, even if it hurt. If you really wanted to know, you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when… when you saw what you saw yesterday. I could tell you couldn’t handle it.”

I want to argue with her, but I can’t on good conscience. Didn’t I tell Prim just last night that I didn’t want to know these things? So instead I just ask, “What do you mean? How did I react?”

“You froze like you were freaked the fuck out,” she informs me. “And when I saw your face, I mean, it looked like you’d just been slapped.”

My eyebrows shoot up and I snort. “Well, you’d know what that looks like, now wouldn’t you?” I mutter acerbically, blinking away. But she’s not wrong, so I take a deep breath and admit, “It was hard to see because it’s just one more thing that I know happened to you because of me. And when I think about all the weeks you spent there, months even, and the things you must have gone through on a daily basis…” I trail off as I return my gaze to the other girl and register the confusion on her face. “I mean, as if the shocks weren’t bad enough…”

“Wait, no,” she interrupts me. “You have the wrong idea, Katniss. Don’t worry, that wasn’t a regular occurrence. It was part of my birthday present from the Capitol.”

I don’t remember much about July 8 of this year in particular. My brain was so addled by concussion symptoms during the early weeks of my stay in Thirteen that many events from that time are all jumbled together in my memory. But I do remember that I’d wondered what Johanna was doing that day, as I had every year since her Games. Being reaped as a sixteen year-old and thus classified as one for statistical purposes had probably helped her weakling act, but on her birthday she’d quite literally come out swinging and taken down half of the remaining tributes. Three kills in one day was a new District 7 record, as Claudius Templesmith had mentioned in his commentary before enthusiastically wishing her a happy birthday. Not that she could hear him, of course.

Although that incident was rather infamous, it was probably easier for me to remember her exact date of birth than it was for most people, partly because we’re both born on the eighth of a month and partly because I’d always found her compelling in some way. This year, when I’d noted the date, I’d hoped she was dead, for her own sake. But she wasn’t dead, and from what she just told me, I can’t imagine she was grateful for it at the time. I’m afraid to ask, but I do.

“Birthday present?”

“Do you really want to know?” she inquires with a quirked eyebrow. No, of course I don’t. But I turn to face her fully and hold her gaze earnestly all the same.

“Tell me,” I urge her.

She averts her suddenly faraway eyes to the opposite wall. “Let’s see,” she trills with false enthusiasm, “it included twenty-one lashes, twenty-one punches, twenty-one shocks… twenty-one lots of things.” She shrugs and catches my eye, an ironic smile growing on her mouth. “They wanted to make it a memorable one, I guess.” I think I might vomit. She quickly rids her face of any emotion. “It’s cool, I’m used to having shitty birthdays.”

I compare this claim to my own memories and offhandedly reflect, “I dunno, I seem to recall your seventeenth wasn’t so bad.”

Johanna’s mouth actually drops open in shock. “Are you fucking serious?” she growls, her gaze harder than I think I’ve ever seen.

“What?” I ask, nervously glancing past her for any potential witnesses to an assault. We are alone. A burble of high-pitched laughter brings my attention back to Johanna, who’s pulled on a sickly sweet smile and is leaning toward me menacingly.

“Was it a good day for you when you dropped those tracker jackers on the Careers, killed Glimmer?” My face must go white as a sheet because I feel the blood drain from my suddenly leaden head as the scene in front of me distorts and blurs. My chest refuses to expand momentarily, some force crushing it from all sides. Even if my sudden horror isn’t evident in my expression, I must give it away as I cover my face with my arms to block everything out when she continues scathingly, “When you heard her screams of terror and agony? When you saw her grotesquely fucked-up face, had to break her swollen fingers that were in a literal death grip just to pry the bow-”

“Jo, stop!” I force out of my mutinous lungs. The constriction around them finally shattered, I gasp in breath after precious breath. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I was in the 74th Hunger Games. I condemned two girls to one of the worst deaths imaginable. I am somehow still alive. I’m in District 13. I’m with Johanna Mason. She has finally stopped talking. I peek over my arms to see the older victor studying my face. She nods, seemingly satisfied.

“There you go.” The hard lines etched in her brow dissolve and she hisses, “Is that really what you think of me?” Her voice and face crack long before the end of that sentence. “You think I enjoyed murdering three kids in one day, planning it, stalking them until I could make my move?” I can only stare mutely, and she responds by blinking back her tears and clenching her trembling jaw. “The Hunger Games is war, Katniss,” she says coldly. “Just as real as the one we’re fighting now. And in a war, sometimes you have to do things you really don’t want to do because losing is not an option.” Her eyes flit away from me. “You of all people should understand that.” The disappointment in her voice is what gives me mine back.

“I never said I thought you enjoyed it,” I lobby weakly in my defense. “I meant it was a good day for you because that’s when you dropped the weakling act. You finally got to be yourself, to stop hiding who you were and playing some other part for the cameras.”

“You think being a cold-blooded killer wasn’t an act?” she snaps. “What, you think that’s what I’m like normally?” She pulls back into her own bubble and spits down the bench, “Fuck you, you don’t know me at all.”

“And that’s somehow my fault?” I shout back, my voice jumping an octave. “How the hell am I supposed to actually know who you are when you never let me see you?” Off Johanna’s bewildered expression, I draw in a deep breath and try to regain control of my voice and face. I catch her eye intently and explain as calmly as possible, “Ever since you woke up the day after the lightning strike, you’ve been pushing me away.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks in disbelief. “I’ve held you every night. I’ve let you cry on my shoulder. I’ve barely left your side.”

“Yeah, but you’ve held me at a distance all the same,” I shoot back. I drop my eyes to the bench and mumble, “You haven’t let me do those same things for you.” A sardonic chuckle sounds from a few feet away, and I cautiously look up.

“Is that what all this was about, Mockingjay?” Johanna taunts with a condescending head tilt. It reminds me a little too much of being pinned down beside the Cornucopia with a gash in my forehead and a knife at my throat. “Is that what the axes were about? You need to feel like you’re helping me? I don’t need saving, remember?”

“I never said you did,” I retort. “But I hate this being a one-way thing where you do so much for me and I feel like I’m not doing anything for you at all.” It’s a reckless move because I’ve already made myself vulnerable enough, but I lean in closer and make an ardent confession, consciously letting my face reveal the depths of my emotion. “I just want you to need me like I need you.”

Johanna takes a moment to absorb this admission, seemingly struck by the weight of it. But then she chokes out an ironic laugh. “Therein lies our problem, Mockingjay,” she announces bitterly. “I don’t want me to need anyone.”

“Then you’re the coward,” I assert. “Pushing everyone away because you’re afraid of getting hurt, that’s weaker than trusting someone enough to accept help.” She just glowers at me silently. “And besides,” I reason, “what kind of a life can you lead, isolated like that? You might as well have died in your Games.”

“We all might as well have died in our Games, Katniss,” she laments resignedly just as my mother rounds the corner behind her. “We’d be better off if we’d died in our Games.” My roommate only turns her head when she hears the lock click in the examination room door, and she startles and curses under her breath upon the revelation of who’d snuck up behind her. She pivots on her rear to face the newcomer and sheepishly mumbles, “Um, hi, Mrs. Everdeen.”

My mother looks back and forth between the two of us and remarks, “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Your darling spawn here broke my nose,” Johanna offers in explanation, jerking her thumb at me over her shoulder.

“I did not break your nose,” I scoff as I rise from the bench and walk around her into the room. “It’s not even crooked. Stop being so dramatic.”

“If your bleeding has stopped, I’m going to examine Soldier Everdeen’s hand first,” I hear Mom tell Johanna behind me. Well, if she’s referring to me in military terms, she’s definitely not happy with me. I boost myself up onto the table with my good hand as I hear the door close, and look up to see her pulling on some sterile gloves. “Let me see it, please.” She takes a peek once I remove the dressing and fetches some tweezers from a cart of medical supplies to my left. “How did you manage this?” she inquires.

“Oh, she just jumped out a broken window, no big deal,” Johanna informs her with a sarcastic nonchalance. “Solid decision-making, as per usual.”

I grimace as Mom picks out the chip of glass still embedded in the wound. “Any altered sensation or difficulty with movement?” she asks. “It doesn’t look deep enough to cause any nerve damage.” I shake my head in response, and she wipes away the blood pooling in my palm with the old gauze and tosses it in the trash.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Johanna muses from beside me. “Imagine Plutarch spinning that in the propos. ‘The Mockingjay is so dedicated to the cause, she lost the use of her hand in a fake firefight.’ So fearless.”

“Will you shut the… shut up already?” I bark, barely remembering to curb my use of profanity around my mother.

“Not my fault you’re too brainless to understand what’s worth getting injured over,” she retorts. I’m about to remind her that we’re supposed to behave realistically in the Block when her eyes suddenly grow wide and she grabs my right hand. I don’t understand why until I automatically squeeze hers with a strength I didn’t know I possessed as I curl into myself and howl at the sudden searing pain at the laceration site. I snatch my injured hand away from Mom and the disinfectant-soaked swab she snuck onto my wound while my attention was elsewhere.

“Ow, fuck my mother!” I screech, shaking the hand out forcefully. The sudden gale of laughter from Johanna alerts me to my poor choice of words, and I look to the healer with wide eyes. “Oh god, no, Mom, I didn’t mean…” She just retrieves my hand and holds it firmly, wearing an unamused expression. Johanna pulls my face into her chest just as Mom resumes cleaning out the cut, and not exactly gently. Jo smothers my moans and keeps my forehead tucked into her neck until the swab digs deeper and I can no longer contain a full-blown scream. Instead of releasing it into the room, I shake my head free of the girl’s grasp and clamp my teeth down over the meat between her shoulder and neck, clenching them every bit as tightly as my hand that’s still squeezing hers. If it bothers her, she doesn’t say so.

When the swab is discarded and I’m left whimpering and resting my forehead on Johanna’s collarbone, she runs her thumb back and forth over my crown and whispers, “Shhh, it’s over. It’s over.” Mom applies some kind of antiseptic cream that’s cooling and very welcome, and just as I sigh heavily in relief, Johanna looks up at her and smiles broadly. “Hey, Mrs. E.,” she drawls with a theatrical wink. “You’re looking fabulous today.” Oh, of course Johanna couldn’t just let that go.

My mother examines the disheveled, bloodied girl from head to toe and simply deadpans, “Likewise, Johanna.” 

I laugh through the tears streaming down my crimson cheeks. I think I detect a small smile on Mom’s face too, but she turns back to the supply cart before I can get a good look. My annoyance at Johanna for referencing my vulgar slip up is somewhat tempered by my gratefulness for her taking the heat off of me, even sort of turning it into a joke. I squint at her and mouth, “I hate you,” while trying rather unsuccessfully not to grin.

She just squeezes my hand and doesn’t even try to hide her own grin when she mouths right back, “I hate you more.”

Those words don’t drive me insane after all. I guess I have Haymitch to thank for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta read, as is becoming customary. :)


	7. Steal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this one done a bit earlier than I expected, but it also took a lot more work than I thought. The more scenes there are to obsess over perfecting and the more technical or emotionally ridiculous they are, the longer it takes me ;P. And yes it has some high emotional intensity in places, but it's also probably the fluffiest chapter so far (especially in terms of angst:fluff ratio), so... enjoy the reprieve?

“Hey, little duck.” I plop onto the bench to Prim’s right as she looks up from her dinner and nods in greeting. “Mom coming?”

“Should be. How’s your hand?” I supinate my left hand and extend it to her so she can examine it herself. She fingers the edge of the interlaced network of wound closures and comments, “I thought you’d need stitches, from what I heard.”

“Me too,” I concur. “Not that I’m complaining she didn’t stick a needle in my hand. Getting it cleaned hurt bad enough.” Prim releases my hand and turns back to her meal, and I scan the room for signs of our mother. Finding none, I lean in and whisper, “Hey, did you guys hear us talking this morning?”

It’s hard to miss Prim’s vexed tone when she mutters, “You mean yelling?”

“No, I mean talking,” I reply sheepishly. “After the yelling. I mean when… when we were talking about what happened after Dad died.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t hear that part. We left pretty quick once it started. Couldn’t really make out most of what you were saying anyway.” I sigh in relief. “Why?”

“Mom seemed kind of pissed at me when she was fixing up my hand.”

Prim nods knowingly. “She’s worried you’re going to make a fool of her by causing trouble. She vouched for you two, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” I pick at my food, not really sure how to bring up what I want to ask her. “You, uh… you told Jo I wanted us to run away. After the Tour.” She catches my eye and I gaze at her curiously. “Why?”

“We were talking about how you’re always looking out for me. It was when you were in Two. She told me how much she admires you for volunteering for me.” I choke mid-swallow and almost spit out a mouthful of rice. Prim narrows her eyes and inquires, “What? Is that really so hard to believe?” 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and admit, “I guess it shouldn’t be.”

“Well that’s how it started, and we just got talking. I was saying you would do anything to protect me, you’d leave the house and the money and your life behind and go anywhere just to keep us safe.”

“Problem is, she doesn’t see that as a good thing.” Prim makes a questioning face, so I elaborate, “Leaving my life behind meant leaving my responsibilities behind too. Not to you guys, to the country. She thinks my duties to the revolution outweighed my duties to my family. That it was selfish of me to want to get out before Snow killed us all instead of staying and being a symbol for the rebellion.”

Prim sits back and ponders this for a moment. Finally she muses, “I can get why she’d think that. Her family is gone; maybe this is all she can see now. Maybe she doesn’t remember what it’s like to have that responsibility and be scared that she’ll lose people.” I consider this and am struck by the memory of the torment in Johanna’s eyes when I said I was playing the game because I still had people to protect.

“No,” I counter, “no, she remembers. She probably remembers too much.” I fiddle with my cutlery and try to block out the images from my first Games that my latest spat with Johanna has unearthed. “I know I do.”

Prim covers my hand with her own and sends me a reassuring look until my eyes clear and I nod in thanks. Her mouth quirks pensively and she suggests, “In that case, maybe she’s bitter that you were so set on protecting us when she couldn’t protect her own family.”

“Who couldn’t protect her own family?” a familiar high-pitched voice asks from behind us. Dread weighs down my stomach as I turn to see Johanna standing behind us, tray in her hands and eyebrow cocked theatrically.

“Oh, shit.” I don’t realize I’ve said this out loud until Johanna smirks and flits her eyes over to Prim, whose mostly guilty expression now shows a flicker of amusement.

“Hey, Littledeen,” Johanna greets Prim before stepping over the bench with her right foot and sinking down to straddle it beside me. “So,” she asks far too casually to be serious, “what’re you guys talking about?”

“How you think Katniss’s plan to run away was irresponsible,” Prim says frankly. I don’t bother to glare at her because I guess it was obvious anyway.

“Hmm,” Johanna draws out sweetly, drumming her fingers on the table. “Do you talk to your sister about all of our fights, Everdeen?”

“I just wanted to know why she told you about it, that’s all,” I say through my palms, massaging my brow.

“Did she give you a satisfying answer?” Johanna asks with just a hint of malice.

“Let it go, Johanna,” Prim interjects from across me.

Johanna swings her second leg over the bench and starts silently poking her food around. I think she might actually let it go until she grumbles, “If you wanted to know why I was upset, you could have just asked me.”

“Oh, so you could blow up at me again?” I retort.

“Stop it!” Prim snaps. “Both of you. Katniss, Johanna admires your guts for volunteering for me and for standing up to the Gamemakers by not killing Peeta. Johanna, Katniss always thought you were the coolest thing ever, trust me. She’d go on and on about you and how brilliant your weakling act was after your Games. You’re both always asking me about each other and it’s obvious you care. You’re friends, not enemies, okay? You two like each other, so can you please stop being stupid and just act like it?”

The two of us sit in stunned silence in the wake of Prim’s outburst. Though I’d love to, I don’t dare turn my head and evaluate Johanna’s expression because I have gone bright red myself, my emotions an awkward combination of embarrassed and flattered. I can only assume her face looks similar, only the blush would be more evident on her creamy skin. I will myself to keep looking forward, though Prim’s uncharacteristically hard gaze isn’t especially pleasant either.

“Okay,” Jo says quietly. She gets her volume and sass back when she adds, “You Everdeen women are so demanding.”

“How’s your nose, by the way?” Prim asks her with a pointed look at me.

“Her nose is fine,” I groan with an emphatic eye roll just as Mom sets her tray down at the corner seat next to Prim.

“I hope you’re not practicing your colorful new vocabulary in front of your little sister,” she says as she takes her seat.

“No, of course not,” I mumble with another blush, hoping no one will mention my indiscretion a few moments ago.

Prim bounces her eyes between the two of us, a grin slowly growing on her face. “What vocabulary, Katniss?” she prods with a smirk. “What did you say?”

“Nothing you need to hear, little duck.”

“Come on, tell me!” she giggles, shaking my forearm.

“No! Oh my god, seriously.” I catch Mom’s eye and shake my head to showcase my annoyance, but then notice Prim looking at Jo behind my back and grinning.

I whip my head around in time to see Johanna mouthing, “-you later” and throwing her a wink.

I punch her in the upper arm. “Don’t you dare,” I warn her. Jo laughs despite my heated glare. “It’s not funny.”

“It was really funny, actually.” Her grin prevails until my mother cuts in sternly.

“Johanna Mason, if you repeat that to my thirteen year-old, I will go straight to the hospital, tell them how concerned I am about your frail mental health, and recommend you be relegated to inpatient status immediately.” Johanna’s eyes go wide at Mom’s threat, I think in surprise more than fear. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Everdeen,” Johanna relents, nodding deferentially and going back to her food.

We mostly eat to the soundtrack of Prim after that as she prattles on about her first few days of doctor’s training. She’s gotten to the topic of pus oozing from second-degree burns before I start to lose my appetite. I glance over to Johanna to see her eyes already on me. She makes a comically disgusted face and I have to contain a giggle. It comes out more like a little snort, but still catches Prim’s attention.

“What?” the younger girl demands, whipping around to look at us.

“I was just asking Katniss’s opinion of President Coin dating Plutarch Heavensbee,” Johanna deadpans.

“What?!” she repeats as I stifle another laugh.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear? Haymitch caught them making out in Command the other day. Apparently, it was quite a show.” She wiggles her eyebrows and Prim laughs.

“You are such a liar, Johanna,” she chuckles. Jo lifts her eyebrows one more time and reaches for her water. Just as she’s downing it, Prim pipes up, “Hey, you wanna play cards tonight?” Johanna swallows and flicks her eyes from Prim to me and back again. “Come on, please, Jo?” Prim whines. “Katniss has been hogging you all week and I never get to see you anymore.”

Johanna and I exchange nervous glances. Between that statement and Prim’s ambiguous comment about us liking each other, I’m a little on edge. Jo hesitates for a second before answering, “I dunno, Littledeen. Even if I didn’t have to study, Katniss still would. Big sis has to concentrate on her gig in the Capitol.”

“So she can hang out with Mom in our compartment,” Prim points out. “Or we can just play in ours, if Mom doesn’t mind.” She looks to her left for approval.

“Why don’t we all play?” Mom suggests. I freeze with my fork at my lips and my mouth hovering open. Mom catches my eye and says, “We don’t see enough of you now, either. And I wouldn’t mind learning some of these games I keep hearing about.” Her eyes move over to Johanna. “And about District 7, in general.” I think someone just dropped a brick into my stomach. I look over my shoulder to see a similarly uneasy expression on Jo’s face.

“Yeah, sure!” Prim agrees. “Make it a family games night, like you have in Seven.”

I raise my eyebrows at Johanna in a silent question, and she answers with an almost imperceptible nod. I turn back to the others and say, “Maybe just give us an hour to study, then we’ll come over?” 

***

“I can tell you’ve been practicing your shuffling,” Johanna praises Prim as we approach the table in my family’s compartment. The blonde girl nods cheerfully and I sink into the rolling chair across from her. “Katniss, did you know that your sweet, innocent little sister stole these cards?” Jo asks as she pulls up a chair beside me.

“I did know that, actually.” I stick my tongue out at Jo, who turns back to Prim with a quizzical expression.

“Where did you get them again?”

“Hospital break room,” Prim reminds her.

“I didn’t hear that,” interjects a voice from my left. We look over in time to see Mom rounding the glass partition on her way out of the bathroom. I think she’s trying to look stern, but her eyes are smiling for her. “So,” she says as she sits down to Prim’s right, “what are we playing?”

“It’s called rummy,” my sister pipes up as she passes the deck to Johanna.

A sly smile crawls onto my face and I turn to the dealer. “Is that one of the games you all play when people come over to drink?” I tease.

She grins and shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s why it’s called that, but I can’t deny that alcohol is ever involved,” she admits, sneaking a glance at my mother. She clears her throat and asks, “Where’s Buttercup?”

“Sleeping, I think,” Prim replies. Jo frowns, and my jaw drops.

“You like Buttercup?” I demand incredulously.

“Buttercup likes her,” Prim corrects me.

“Buttercup doesn’t like anyone,” I scoff, which just draws laughs out of the whole table. I turn a deep red because they don’t even have to say the punch line that Buttercup just doesn’t like me. Just like most people.

Johanna takes her time explaining the game to Mom and I with the help of a partial demo hand with Prim. Prim offers to keep score as Jo shuffles the deck again in preparation for our first hand for points. I sit back and watch while she deals out laughs and cards to my family, some warm and heavy feeling settling in my stomach. When Mom finally draws first card, I pick up my hand and lean forward to rest my elbows on the table.

I don’t know why I do what I do next. Maybe it’s my rising physical craving from being squished so close together, or maybe it’s just the thrill of doing something sneaky right under Mom’s nose, but for some reason I let my left knee fall to the side to rest against Johanna’s right. I’m not sure exactly what reaction I’m looking for. A slight shift of her leg or increase in pressure against mine? A hand cupping the inside of my knee? Okay, come to think of it, that’s definitely what I want, though I know it’s unrealistic given that she’s holding a bunch of cards. But even a second of eye contact to acknowledge the fact that I’m touching her would probably be enough to make my heart flutter at the moment. It just grows heavy inside my chest instead, because she does nothing to acknowledge the contact. Nothing at all.

I irritably retract my knee and decide to just kick her ass at a card game instead. I turn out to have a strong combination of resolve and luck, because I go out to end the hand each of the first three rounds, earning twenty bonus points each time. When I slap down a run of four and toss my last card onto the discard pile, Prim throws up her arms in disbelief.

“No way!” she whines. “You’re cheating.” I just grin broadly and shrug.

“Beginner’s luck,” Johanna grumbles as she counts her points. Once all the scores are in, she gathers up the cards from the others and plops the stack down in front of me. “Oh, look whose turn it is to deal,” she taunts me. I look down helplessly at the cards and then shift my gaze to Prim, who thankfully takes pity on me and relieves me of the stack. Johanna chuckles and shakes her head at my sister. “She’s gotta learn to shuffle sometime, you know.”

“You must’ve learned at a young age,” Mom butts in. “Prim tells me everyone plays in Seven.”

“At least in my home village and the main town,” Jo shrugs, “But I hear it’s the same in other ones too.”

“That’s right, it’s pretty big, isn’t it? Where in the district are you from?”

“Up past the fiftieth.” All three Everdeens stare blankly at her, so she waves her hand dismissively and rephrases, “Way in the northern end.”

“Are you from a big family?” comes the next question, and my gut turns in a sudden fit of nausea.

“Mom!” I shoot her an angry warning look for touching the taboo topic while instinctively laying a hand on Johanna’s shoulder. I feel her muscles relax after a second as she releases a long breath.

“It’s okay, Katniss,” she tells me, briefly flicking her eyes over to me and giving me a reassuring nod. She turns back to my mother and answers, “Yeah, I am. I had three brothers, two older, one younger. And an older sister.”

“Two older brothers?” Mom’s eyebrows jump. “You must’ve gotten beat up a lot.”

“Oh no, not really,” Johanna smiles nostalgically. “We roughhoused a bit, and that’s how I learned to wrestle. I won the juvenile district championship twice before I got reaped.”

I slowly turn to face my roommate with narrowed eyes. “So you let me beat you,” I deduce indignantly.

Johanna looks me over from head to toe and smirks, “I never said that. You’re out of my weight class, stretch.”

“Oh, right,” I snort. “With all your attitude, sometimes I forget how tiny you are.”

Johanna cocks a challenging eyebrow and states, “Actually, it was my sister I had to watch out for.” She catches Prim’s eye and grins. “Older sisters are the worst, aren’t they? Pushing you around, making fun of you, dressing you up in outfits…”

“Katniss was never the dressing up type,” Prim interjects amusedly.

“I should have guessed,” Johanna smirks, pointedly eyeing me up again. I barely even have time to glare at her before Prim cuts in again.

“And she was never mean. Well, maybe a bit when we were little, but that’s it.”

“That’s just because she had to be your parent too.” Johanna reasons flippantly. It’s maybe a split second later that a shadow crosses her face and she blinks rapidly. “Uh, I mean, obviously when a parent dies, everyone who’s old enough has to start chipping in,” she backpedals. I sort of resent her classification of my contributions to the family as mere chipping in, but I don’t argue with her because I know she’s trying to save both herself and my mother some embarrassment. “It makes you grow up fast,” she continues, now looking at me. She gives me a slight smile and nods admiringly, but perhaps she catches my annoyance because she finally turns to face Mom and declares, “You’ve raised quite an amazing young woman here, Mrs. Everdeen.” Or maybe she’s just sucking up. Either way, it makes my heart swell.

“Thank you, Johanna,” Mom replies with a perceptive scan of the girl. “But I can’t claim much responsibility for that.” I can’t hide the surprise on my face as she catches my eye. It’s not that we don’t all know that, it’s just something that’s always gone unsaid. Prim finally hands me back the cards, and the chore of dealing pulls me from the moment. My eyes settle on Johanna just as I finish.

So she thinks I’m amazing, huh? I grin devilishly and nab my hand of cards, raising it up to obscure my face from those across the table. I’m afraid I’ll chicken out if I pause for even a second, so I immediately morph my face into my best imitation of that suggestive look Johanna kept giving me up until last night. I turn to her and see she’s organizing her hand, so I nudge her foot with mine under the table. When she turns her attention to me, her eyes pop open and her jaw goes slack. Her hands too, apparently, because her cards slip out of them and scatter on the table. She shakes the shock from her face and scoops them back up, mumbling about how at least they all landed face down. Then she looks back at me and mouths, “Asshole.”

My mother clears her throat, and this time we both jump. “So, Johanna,” she inquires as my roommate draws the first card, “What do you want to do when the war’s over?” Jo takes a moment to finish her turn and collect herself before answering.

“Go back to Seven, if I can,” she says hopefully. “I miss home.”

“Even if you could go anywhere?” Mom grills her. “No itch to see the rest of the country?” This is starting to get embarrassing again, but thankfully Johanna appears to be mostly amused.

“I saw it all on my Victory Tour.” She shifts a little under Mom’s gaze and adds, “But I suppose I could relocate anywhere, if I had a good enough reason.”

Mom considers this with a pensive hum. “Would it be difficult for you to find work in your field if you moved elsewhere?”

“They’ll need to build houses and furniture everywhere, I’m sure,” the victor responds with a slight defensive edge to her tone. “I know how to do more than just chop down trees.” She waits a beat before adding, “And people.” I am about to kick her when Mom surprisingly chuckles.

“You’ve kept your sense of humor,” she observes. “That’s good. Trust me, I know these things.”

“Because you’re a healer?” Jo suggests.

“That, and personal experience,” she confesses. My mother’s openness this evening continues to surprise me. It surprises me most of all just as I’m standing up to leave shortly after ten o’clock. She steps closer, runs her hands down my arms and beams, “All grown up.” She pulls me into a rare hug and mumbles into my hair, “I love you. Always have, always will.”

“Okay,” I respond, slightly puzzled. “I love you too.” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; I’m still feeling a bit sappy as well after that discussion earlier regarding my lost childhood. It’s not until Johanna and I are alone that I come to fully understand.

“Your mom thinks I’m your girlfriend or something,” she comments the second I’ve slid our compartment door shut behind us. I’m glad I’m still holding onto it because the ground suddenly feels like it’s shifting underneath me.

“What?”

Johanna laughs at my wide eyes and teases, “Come on, you didn’t notice? That was practically a future in-law interview. ‘Tell me about your upbringing and your future plans for making a living.’” Her grin falters slightly. “Parents are hilarious, eh?”

My expression shifts from stunned to indignant. What’s so fucking hilarious about the idea of Johanna being my girlfriend? I glare at her and storm to the bathroom. I’m about to wash my hands after doing my business when I remember the sticky strips holding together the lacerated flesh on my left hand. I can technically shower with them, but I’d rather keep the setup dry. I’m considering alternative bathing options when I suddenly get a very bad idea.

I take a page out of Johanna’s book and take a few minutes to wipe my dirtier parts down with a damp cloth. I scrub away the schedule tattoo, taking my jitters out on the skin of my right forearm. I’m all but completely sure by now that Johanna is purposely refusing to flirt with me, and now she’s laughing at the notion of us being involved romantically? Fine. We’ll see who’s laughing now. I take one last deep and hopefully calming breath right before I exit the bathroom.

I round the corner to see Jo sitting cross-legged on her bed and facing mine, staring intently at one of the tactics books. When I open the dresser to access my sleeping clothes, she looks up and eyes me quizzically. “You’re not having a shower?” she asks.

“No, I’m a little concerned about the wound closures failing,” I explain as I turn to face her and reach down for the hem of my shirt. “They’re supposedly waterproof, but I remain unconvinced.” I abruptly lift my arms and whip the shirt over my head. Once the material clears my vision, I’m treated to the sight of Johanna’s brown eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them. I toss the shirt to the floor and smirk as her eyes come up to catch mine. But then she proves my speculations true by immediately averting her gaze to the book in her hands. I frown and consider my next words. “I wouldn’t want them to… you know… peel off,” I add, teasing my pants down my hips and dropping them to my feet. Johanna lowers the book and quirks an eyebrow in what looks to be mild amusement.

“What are you doing?” she inquires in a frustratingly unaffected voice.

“What?” I sass her. “Isn’t a girl allowed to change in her own compartment?” Johanna chuckles while I step out of the pants and kick them aside.

“Of course you are,” she replies, “you just usually do it in the bathroom.”

“I guess I do, don’t I?” I ponder. I turn back to the dresser and grab my sleeping pants. “Well, this is still much more private than a glass elevator, anyway.” I peek over my left shoulder and see her squinting at me. When I steel my nerves and peel off my undershorts, she just brings the book up to her face and keeps it there. I sigh and step into the pants, then retrieve my clothes from the floor. I toss them into the drawer, quickly followed by my bra. I start to pull the sleep top over my head, but just before the hem passes my eyes, I sneak another glance at Johanna and catch her peeping over the top of the book. I grin to myself as I pull the shirt down and pop my head out the top, then flash said grin at her briefly before closing the drawer and hopping up onto my own bed.

“I think I underestimated you, Everdeen,” she observes. “I guess you’re not as pure as we all assumed. Or at least not as prudish.”

“People make wrong assumptions about me all the time,” I assert, straightening up and scooting forward to let my legs dangle over the edge.

“Yeah, me too,” she chimes in with the slightest edge to her tone. I shift uncomfortably and drop my gaze to the floor, recalling our conversation in the hospital.

“Jo, I think I owe you an apology,” I confess. I raise my eyes to find hers attentive. “I misjudged you. I mean, I did admire you, like Prim said, but I never made an effort to really understand who you were. I’m sorry I made so many assumptions about you.”

Johanna’s eyes briefly flick to the ceiling as she licks in lips in thought. She shrugs, tosses the book to the foot of her bed and admits, “I assumed things about you too, girl on fire. It’s fine. It’s over.” She smiles reassuringly. That’s true. After everything else that has happened today, I almost forgot about our showdown up against the wall this morning. I give my head a quick shake to clear that distracting thought.

“I never really tried to analyze how much of your persona in general is an act,” I say. “But then again, you don’t make it easy. You’re in character a lot in person too.”

“That’s the thing, Everdeen. I became everything they wanted me to be,” she explains wryly. Her mouth twitches and she adds, “Well, not everything, hence the ‘not being able to protect my family.’” I wince and she shrugs. “Eventually, the lines between you and your character blur and you don’t know what’s you and what’s what you’re supposed to be anymore, you know?”

Johanna sucks her bottom lip into her teeth and squints at me for several seconds before popping it free and plucking at it, as I’ve noticed she’s prone to do when deep in thought. My heart starts pounding in anticipation. She finally pushes off the wall and scoots forward to hang her legs off the bed. “You know what it’s like to act for the cameras,” she proclaims knowingly. “Don’t you?” I gulp and fight the impulse to look away. Some instinct in me knows exactly where this is going, and though my stomach is suddenly spasming and I’m feeling lightheaded, I want to set things straight. So to speak.

“You mean about Peeta?” I ask. She holds eye contact and nods, and I return the gesture. “Finnick saw through it too.”

“Oh, I know, anyone with half a brain could,” she spouts flippantly. “But I have to hand it to you, your acting improved marginally.” I detect a hint of insecurity when she clarifies, “In the Quell, you seemed pretty attached.”

“I never loved him, Jo. Not like that.” I give that a moment to sink in, and by the growing laxity in her face, I’m sure I’m successful. My heart pounds yet harder and I begin to ramble nervously. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m even capable of having those feelings for him. I mean, it’s nothing in comparison…” I trail off as I realize what I’m about to say. I’m not ready to blatantly state my affection for her yet, not when she hasn’t done the same. Especially not with her rebuffing my advances as of late.

“In comparison to what?” Johanna prods. I take my time choosing my words.

“To what I thought it should be. What I was always told it should be, how I should feel about a boy.” I shrug. “I never really cared much about boys, never got why other girls went so weird over them.” If she’s looking for a confession, that’s the closest thing she’s going to get.

“So…” she queries, eyes on her feet, “you still wouldn’t choose him, even if he recovered? You wouldn’t want to be with him then?”

“If we win, I won’t have to be. And if we lose, I’ll be dead anyway.” A corner of Jo’s mouth twitches in acknowledgement of this statement’s truthfulness. I consider it further and muse, “I guess I could be. He’s strong and caring and familiar. He was always a good guy. Maybe I could grow to love him, I don’t know.” What could my life have been like with Peeta had I never stumbled upon my lurking attraction to Johanna? Stuck in a rebuilt Twelve, eating my feelings in the form of freshly baked cheese buns, popping out babies I don’t really want. Alive in body but not in soul, unfulfilled, drowning all my life in the memories of everyone I couldn’t save that he reminds me of. I don’t think I could ever be satisfied with that life now. 

“I can understand why you’d want to give him a chance,” Johanna mumbles, pulling me out of my thoughts. She’s swinging her legs a little off the edge of the bed and picking at a cuticle. “And I understand why no one would want to steal you from him, why Gale is sort of keeping his distance and not taking advantage of the situation.” She finally looks up. “Peeta loves you. Really, some part of him still does.” She studies my surely perplexed expression and bites her lip. “I mean, I always knew that, but in the Capitol… it was like you were his only hope, the only light left in his world.” She swallows. “He screamed for you. All the time.”

“So did you.”

Jo’s feet lose their momentum and soon hang as loosely as her jaw. She stares for a moment through wide eyes before snapping her mouth shut and shaking her head slightly. “Did he tell you that?” she asks.

“You were screaming for me during your flashback,” I inform her. Johanna blinks down to the floor and blushes slightly. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” she admits. “I was in another world.” Then maybe she doesn’t remember the kiss, either. I’m afraid to ask. Johanna catches my eye again shyly, and I find myself unconsciously dropping to my feet and easing myself closer. Maybe she’s every bit as afraid as I am. Afraid of being loved and left. Afraid of betraying an ally.

“Johanna, no one could steal me from Peeta,” I assure her as I raise my hands to lightly rest on her knees. She squints in confusion, and I catch her eye meaningfully. “I was never his to begin with.”

A smile starts to break onto Johanna’s face before she ducks her head to hide it, nodding slowly. “Okay,” she murmurs. When she eventually shows her face again, my eyes are there to meet hers. I nod once and lift a corner of my own mouth in reply. She zeroes in on my lips and I freeze, silently hoping but unable to close the distance myself. But then she just hops off the bed, forcing me to step back out of her personal space. “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” she says awkwardly, bending down to open her own drawer.

I’m already burrowed under the covers by the time Jo returns from the bathroom, laughing. “So, Everdeen…” she drawls teasingly, “ever left a mark on a girl before?” I prop myself up on my elbows to see her face sporting twinkling eyes and a deadly grin. “You know, I never pegged you for a biter.” She drags her collar down her left shoulder to reveal a couple of purple half moons branded on her skin. My eyes widen at both the sight and the immediate heat and pressure it elicits in my stomach and between my legs. I’ve marked her. Staked a claim. It’s more erotic than I could have imagined.

“I…” I stammer, “n-no, I haven’t. Boy or girl.”

Johanna grins and nudges me so I’ll move over. “First time for everything.” She settles in behind me and slides her hands down my arms to grasp my own hands, as I’m now accustomed to. “I’m just finding out all kinds of interesting things about you today, girl on fire.”

“Mm? Like what?” I mumble.

“I found out your hands are even stronger than I realized,” she purrs into my neck while giving them a squeeze. I can’t help but break into a smile. Have I restored the natural balance of things? I peek over my shoulder to confirm what I somehow already know: she’s doing that thing with her eyes again. “Strong fingers can be useful for more than just pulling bowstrings, you know,” she husks directly into my ear, her warm breath making me shiver involuntarily. But then she licks the backside of my earlobe and I downright jolt in her arms.

“Fuck,” I pant in irritation as she cackles with mirth, “you scared me.”

“Is that what that was?” she breathes, wiggling her hips a little. Another smile sneaks onto my lips despite the shaking of my head. I have never been more pleased to be offended.

“God, you’re such a pervert, Johanna!” I exclaim disbelievingly. “What am I ever going to do with you?” I feel a smile to match mine growing on my neck.

“I could give you a list of ideas.”

***

“Where’s lover boy?” My teeth grit and muscles clench as I struggle under the weight of the deceptively small girl who’s wrestled me onto my back. “Oh, I see,” she taunts me, head canting to the side, “you were gonna help him, right?” I flex the wrist she has pinned with her foot, but I can’t pry it free. “Like you helped Rue?” I can practically feel my eyes darkening as my body quakes with rage and adrenaline, desperately fighting to free myself or at least shut Clove up. Where the hell is Thresh? Shouldn’t he be pulling her off of me right about now? “Like you helped Glimmer?”

My energy is sapped in an instant. I lie still in the grass, staring up into those dark, spiteful eyes. “Yeah,” she grins. She whips out a tiny knife and drags it down my cheek. “And now, we’re gonna help you.” Clove abruptly stands up and backs away, allowing another, much more terrifying enemy to come into view. No one could match this face to the girl from the interviews, from the chariot ride, charming the Capitol with her beauty. But I recognize it. Glimmer’s abhorrent face postmortem is one of the things I most wish I could forget, one of the things I’m sure I never will.

“Hello, Katniss,” she says, the mouth I could barely make out now twisting in a snarl. She begins to stalk toward me, sending fear pulsing through my whole body. I start scrambling backward in a crabwalk, but my arms fail me and I collapse on my back again. I suddenly notice another girl besides Clove backing up Glimmer. A girl that, despite the moderate number of bumps from the tracker jacker stings on her face, I recognize as the Career from District 4. The other one I killed that morning. The three of them advance menacingly in a V formation. “This wasn’t going to be personal, you know,” Glimmer informs me. “Losing was just not an option for me.” My eyes widen. I know those words from somewhere. “But now…” Her eyes combust with anger, and my sudden terror makes my limbs move again. I’ve shuffled backward a mere few feet before I begin tumbling down a steep embankment.

I crash into the ground at the bottom of the hill with a crunch that rattles my bones and knocks the air from my lungs. My eyes flutter open and try to focus in the darkness now surrounding the scene. That’s when I spot the mist floating down toward me. My hands twitch in the damp jungle soil, but that’s all the movement I can muster in my shock from the fall. I sigh and go limp, not just resigning myself to the poison fog, but also sort of welcoming it. Maybe it will mercifully engulf and kill me this time. It would be painful, I’m sure, but quick, if Mags’s death was any indication. Mags. One more death on my personal toll. The mist fails to deflect above me, and I smile. It will be over soon. I draw in what should be my last breath.

What feels like specks start to settle on my skin, but no pain accompanies it. My brow furrows and I breathe in again to ingest the poison. Instead I choke on dust and start sputtering out a series of coughs that pull me up into a sitting position. I clear my throat and spit out the offending particles, then lean back a little and support my weight with my hands as I try to get my bearings. The first thing I notice is the chill in my fingers, the hardness of the surface beneath me. As the dust settles around me, I start to make out other details, like the debris surrounding me and the body crushed under a boulder a few feet to my right. I cough again and try to move to help the person. Suddenly my face is as cold as my hands as the blood drains from it. I can’t move my legs. I examine them visually. They look perfectly fine. I try to move them again and realize with a shudder that I can’t feel them either. A loud explosion suddenly rocks the whole room, or whatever it is, and more chunks of rock rain down around me. It’s a few seconds before another layer of dust settles on my face. Stone dust, I realize. And in that instant, I am struck by the knowledge of where I am.

“You have to do things you really don’t want to do,” I hear Johanna’s voice echoing from behind me just as another explosion rattles the Nut. She was right; I of all people should understand her actions and their motivations. And I do. I understand Johanna far too well, I realize. I roll onto my stomach and start clawing at the cold stone floor, dragging my useless legs behind me as I crawl toward help, an exit, anything. My weak and unstable arms make it maybe ten feet before they give out and my chin cracks on the unforgiving surface. I try to call out for Johanna, but when I inhale I choke on the dust my breath sucks up off the stone. She’s not coming, no one is. I will die here, alone.

I don’t jolt awake from this nightmare. I just slowly become aware that I’m now on my side on a soft, warm surface. I recognize this change around the time I feel the tears rolling over the bridge of my nose and across my cheek. Despite the warmth emanating from the cocoon of blankets and the other body within it, the sweat that’s broken out on my skin is causing me to shiver. The leftover adrenaline and emotion from the series of disturbing dreams probably aren’t helping in that regard.

I peek over my shoulder and identify Johanna passed out on her back only inches from me. As I sit up gingerly, I scoot over to avoid making contact and waking her. I pull my knees up to my chest and wipe my face with my hands, focus on keeping my breathing even and quiet despite the visuals from the nightmare that keep invading my mind. My trembling only increases the longer I sit up in bed, as does the urge to get the hell out of here. My gaze drops to my sleeping bedmate, and I only briefly consider waking her. She is the one who dredged up these unpleasant memories in the first place, so why give her the satisfaction of consoling me? Because I want her to, that’s why. But my pride wins out and I start to maneuver over her and out of the bed.

I’m not sure where I’m going to go. Maybe just to the bathroom so I can break down in privacy. Perhaps to wake Haymitch or Gale. Gale wouldn’t understand, not like another victor would, but he knows how to hold me quietly and not ask questions. I’m still debating whether I desire advice or comfort more when the person who gives me the best combination of the two speaks up.

“How long are you going to hover over me like that, Everdeen?” I startle and lose my balance, falling half off the bed and half on top of the girl, who reaches out with lightning reflexes to nab my shirt and pull me to safety. “Not that I minded you straddling me,” jokes Johanna, “I just wondered when you’d make up your mind.”

Normally I would relish the opportunity to be in this position and use any excuse possible to stay there, but I am irritated by both her ill-timed levity and her responsibility for my current episode, so I push myself up off of her and back into my previous position. I look down within a couple of seconds of wrapping my arms around my knees again and see Johanna’s eyes narrowed in analysis and concern. My fragile barrier dividing me from my emotions and Johanna starts to crumble just from that one look, and I kind of hate myself for it. She inherently possesses this uncanny ability to see right through me and leave me feeling vulnerable, and not having the will to fight it feels weak, somehow.

“Katniss, are you okay?” I avert my gaze and tip my head to wipe the tear rolling down my cheek on the sleeve covering my upper arm, noticing but trying to ignore how my inspirations have begun to escalate in force and volume again. “Hey, come here,” she urges me sleepily with a tug on my shirt. “Talk to me.” She flattens her palm against my ribcage, melting the last of my meager defenses. I begrudgingly collapse back down onto the bed and try to steady my breathing. Once I manage to get it somewhat under control, I roll over to face Johanna and find my face only inches from hers. She blinks and nods softly in a silent command to speak. I snuffle and swipe at some tears with my hand, trying to find my words.

“How do you live with it?” comes my rough and phlegmy voice. “The things you did?”

Johanna twitches her eyebrows up and mumbles, “Not very well.” She reaches out and gently cups the same cheek she slapped not 24 hours earlier, her thumb resting partially on my lips. I barely move them to lay the tiniest of kisses on it, and she grunts in acknowledgement before murmuring groggily, “I just refuse to die inside.”

I nudge her hand with my chin, prompting her heavy lids to reopen. Seeing I am unsatisfied and still riveted, she smoothes my hair behind my ear and sighs, “And I remind myself that I’m alive, so I must have done something right.” She catches my eye meaningfully and continues, “There’s a saying: ‘The end justifies the means.’ You’re alive, Everdeen. And no one can blame you for what you had to do to make that happen.” Jo tucks my head under her chin and I compliantly nuzzle into her neck. It’s a few moments before she speaks again. “No one but you. But that’s always the problem, isn’t it?”

***

My boot scuffs louder than I’d like it to on the pavement as I halt abruptly and snap my right arm out to restrain Kearns. The boy teeters beside me midstep until my palm directs him backward, and not a moment too soon, because the soldier behind me almost immediately smacks into me in the darkness. I barely get a foot under my weight to keep myself from tumbling forward, then turn to glare at her. My eyes move back to Kearns, who is eyeing me questioningly. He’s not the most aware teenager I’ve ever met, despite being book smart and brimming with enthusiasm. He would have been easy pickings for the Careers had he been born in another district and happened to get reaped. I almost shot him when I heard him creeping up behind me mere minutes ago, but thankfully I held my fire until I realized he was not dressed in the enemy’s white.

Our squad began the mission scattered throughout the Block, which to be accurate is actually more like four square blocks, not even counting alleys as cross streets. Our objective is simply to reassemble the squad using only our commander’s instructions, only it’s not so simple due to the abnormally high number of Peacekeepers roaming about the field of play. I was navigating northeast to the assigned rendezvous point mid-way up the eastern boundary when I wheeled around to see my squadmate silently raising his hands in the air in a diplomatic gesture, the busty and apparently nightblind girl he’s always shooting guns and longing glances with lagging only a few feet behind him. Identity is difficult to place in the near pitch darkness, but I recognized him by his lanky build and telltale hazel eyes, which now widen as they finally detect the mine he almost stepped on. He nods at me in thanks and I hold a finger to my lips before pulling him behind me to hug the wall I’m following.

My hand detects the corner of the building once I’ve crept forward a few more steps, so I stop and scout out the intersection. Satisfied that it’s clear, I wave the others forward and pad across to the north side of the street as quickly as possible. The other two hustle past me, raising a ridiculous racket that is sure to attract attention. I roll my eyes and consider ditching these deadweight Peacekeeper magnets before they get me killed, but that’s not really the spirit of teamwork our instructors want to see. If my bearings are correct, we’re only a block southwest of our destination anyway. If I can deliver them safely, it looks good on me. I sweep the intersection once more before bringing up the rear.

All hell breaks loose only moments later when a smoke bomb lands about ten feet northeast of Kearns, who’s foolishly wandered a ways ahead of me. The thick, dark smoke has almost obscured what little I can see of him before he unexpectedly collapses. I suddenly register the slight hissing sound and instantly make the connection.

“Masks!” I call out once as loudly as I can before wrestling mine off of my belt and over my face, simultaneously dropping to my knees to avoid any bullets my voice may have attracted. I’d risked the volume because if any other squad members are nearby, they may be falling prey to the same trap. Disguising gas with a smoke bomb is a clever trick. The girl also passes out before she can heed my warning. I don’t know whether the gas is supposed to be poisonous or just knockout in this scenario, but I abandon the unresponsive bodies all the same and slink forward into the fog. I would need help to move them both successfully anyway.

All of my instincts tell me that I’m walking into some kind of trap, but I force myself to keep moving forward toward where my squad should hypothetically be. I creep along the wall at a snail’s pace, my heart pounding in my ears, the sucking sound each inspiration draws from my gas mask almost as loud. I progress about twenty yards before the mist really begins to thin out. When my left hand I’m sliding along the wall meets air, I realize that that’s because I’ve reached an alley that is allowing it more space to diffuse. I hurry past the alley to the clearer air on the other side of it.

Though there’s still some residual smoke impacting visibility, I think the gas must be below potent levels at this point, so I tear the mask off my face and heave in the full breaths it doesn’t allow, choking on the still mildly polluted air that’s also making my eyes water. I’m vulnerable, doubled over with my hands on my knees, and definitely making too much noise. I’ve just straightened up and tucked my mask back into my belt when a hand claps over my mouth from behind.

I startle dramatically, and my attacker uses this momentary lapse in strength to their advantage by pulling me backward and off balance before the fear shooting through my nerves finally translates into action. I start dragging my heels, digging desperately to find purchase on the rough pavement as I’m hauled backward into the alley. I repeatedly drive my elbows into my captor’s torso, but their armor absorbs most of the impact. I force my jaw open a crack and dig my teeth into the skin of a finger, drawing a pained grunt from behind me just before I’m spun around and thrust up against the brick wall. My assailant’s right hand slips a little off my mouth and onto my cheek, and I’m just about to scream for backup when my mouth is suddenly otherwise occupied by a pair of lips pressing against it.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even think to push the person off or run away. The lips start moving, snapping my brain back into some semi-functional mode. My already limited night vision still mostly obscured by my tears and the lingering traces of smoke, I focus on tactile sensations to suss out what the hell is happening. The hand on my face is calloused but petite, the lips softer than I’m used to and pressing slightly upward as though the person is craning up to reach my mouth. Small. Female. Johanna. 

I kiss her back with an enthusiasm that surprises even me. Our lips sync up in slow but increasingly forceful movements, and it’s only seconds before the tip of my tongue grazes her lower lip and she opens her mouth to let it slip in. My involuntary gasp draws an almost silent moan from her lips, and she takes control back, curling her tongue to stroke along mine before flicking it out to run over my teeth. A sudden tightening in my gut springs my own tongue back into action and our kiss quickly becomes all hunger and clashing teeth and sharp breaths. My right hand comes up to mimic hers by cupping her cheek and she crushes her body into me ever harder. I actually sort of resent our armor in this moment because it prevents me from feeling her curves and how they fit with mine. She releases another tiny moan into my mouth followed by a quick gasp for air from it, sending my libido skyrocketing. I mindlessly move my left hand to the small of her back, where it is sadly also impeded by armor. The bigger problem, however, is that I was still holding the barrel of my gun with that hand.

The rifle clatters to the ground and Johanna jumps back, whipping her handgun out of her belt and her face back and forth to each end of the alley. My eyes now cleared up, I finally get a good look at her. I spy her deep brown orbs and let out a small breath of relief because some miniscule part of my brain was still worried that this was some rather embarrassing case of mistaken identity. She holsters her weapon and steps closer again, her eyes still widened in alarm. Mine close as my head tips back a bit with a contented sigh. I start to open my mouth, my lips unconsciously forming her name, but she immediately covers it with hers again and swallows the word I suddenly realize I’ve been aching to say. To say like this, that is.

“Shhh,” she breathes into my mouth. She pointedly moves her eyes side-to-side, and I nod to communicate my understanding. She starts to pull back, and I really should let her go, and I really should pick up my gun, and I really should be thinking about anything but her tongue and her breath and her taste and how I want infinitely more. I don’t do any of those things. I grab the top of her bulletproof vest and yank her back into me and crash our lips together. I know this is the worst possible time to be stealing kisses, but given the volatility of Johanna’s moods and desires, I am in no position to turn down such an unpredictable opportunity. And if someone happens to witness this crime, either live or on tape, I’ll just plead insanity. Johanna has that effect on me. And I on her, so it seems, because she hesitates for all of one second before looping her arms around my neck and surrendering to my lips. I release her vest and bring my hands to rest on her hips, sighing and finally relaxing into the kiss. It’s not as frantic or forceful this time, but every bit as passionate. The intimacy of this embrace has ignited that slowly spreading warmth in my gut that I remember from the beach, and I honestly prefer it to the instantaneous swell of desire I experienced only moments ago. This is all so overwhelming and wonderful and addictive, and I wish it had happened so much sooner.

It’s Mr. Robot who finally breaks it up. “All squad members, rendezvous point moved one block south. Repeat, rendezvous one block south of original destination.” Johanna pulls away and raises her eyebrows. I nod and bend down to retrieve my rifle while she reaches over her shoulder to pull hers from its holster. I figure that if the destination has been moved, it’s because the original location was too dangerous, so I eschew the idea of heading down the continuation of this alley that will spit us out in-between the two intersections in question. I instead make eye contact with Johanna and point to the southeast. Johanna nods and taps twice just below her eyes, then reaches around to touch my back.

I step out into the street and scope out the scene. There’s no movement and it’s deadly quietly, eerily so. The two younger teenagers are still passed out on the ground, but I decide to desert them again. Even if they are considered alive in the scenario, dragging them to safety is not worth risking Johanna’s life. Like she said, it’s unwise to try to save everyone when it’s dangerous and the odds are stacked against me. Besides, if they were alive I’d expect Peacekeepers to have come and apprehended them by now. I uneasily make my way diagonally across the street and into the very light mist of smoke remaining, not bothering with the gas mask. If the gas didn’t take me down when I pulled it off before, then it shouldn’t now either. I have to keep checking over my shoulder to be sure Johanna is still behind me, because even walking backward she has the same hunter’s footfalls as I do.

I make the northeast corner of the intersection I’d come from and reach behind me to lay a soft hand on Johanna’s hip so she knows to stop. I peek around the corner and, seeing it’s clear, grab the fabric of her uniform and give it a couple of gentle tugs before returning my hand to the trigger. I burst around the corner fully and scan it through my scope as I take my first few steps forward. It still appears to be empty, so I pick up my pace a touch, keeping my gun at the ready. I chance the occasional glance over my shoulder to confirm my partner’s position while we creep ever closer. I can almost taste victory now, and start to grin despite the intensifying of my breathing in anticipation of some final threat. I’m perhaps forty feet from our destination when it occurs to me that no one seems to be there yet. Our black uniforms hardly stand out in the darkness, but I see no glints off the barrels of guns, no shadows of movement. I peer through the scope and confirm my theory with the power of magnification. Maybe Johanna and I are the only ones left. I want to relay my observations to her, but I know I can’t speak. I turn my head to check on her again, just in time to see the Peacekeeper aiming a gun at my head.

I jump out of the way just as I hear the spray of gunfire, return the shots only to have him duck into a recessed doorway. I sprint the short distance to where he’d disappeared, but just as I arrive the door slams shut noisily. I reef on the handle but the damn thing won’t budge. I step back and release a burst of fire onto the lock in blind hope, but when I try again I get the same result. Of course the Block is so fucking smart with tracking when our “bullets” hit each other but is too low-tech to recognize that bullets should also be able to shoot deadbolts to smithereens. I growl in frustration and kick at the heavy metal slab once before stalking back into the street.

I need to focus. Maybe there is another way in or out. Wait. Out. Part of the Peacekeepers’ objective in the mission is probably to bring any captured rebel soldiers into their established territory to the north. I heard no gunfire in the street before Johanna vanished, so if she hasn’t gotten herself killed in an escape attempt yet, maybe I can intercept them on the other side of the building. If I hurry.

I take off eastward toward the nearest intersection in what is perhaps the fastest sprint of my life outside of an arena. I round the corner where the mission is supposed to end and see a fire escape on this side of the building. Even better. I explode up off the ground and just manage to wrap my fingertips around the ladder and pull it down with my weight. I clamber up the slick metal and onto the first landing of the rickety structure, then blaze up the flights of steps with complete disregard for the ruckus I’m creating. I wouldn’t mind distracting some Peacekeepers from their current captive, anyway.

I reach the roof of the three-story building and bolt to the northern edge to see if I can get a bead on Johanna. Just as I arrive, the sounds of a scuffle rise up from street level and I spot Johanna grappling with two Peacekeepers near the western edge of the block. She drives the butt of one of their guns into the other’s chest and sends him flying backward, but the one whose gun she latched onto smartly lets go of it while she’s doing this and tackles her to the ground while her arms are occupied. I pick off the other Peacekeeper just as he scrambles to his feet and points his weapon at the girl, but in the meantime Jo squirms out of his partner’s grip and lands on top, a struggle now ensuing for the gun. I can’t get a clear and safe shot at him while they’re wrestling, so I run along the edge of the roof to get closer in the meantime.

I reach the northwest corner of the roof, about a third of the way down the block, just before three more Peacekeepers come charging into the alley from the west. I haven’t even finished yelling, “Jo! Behind you!” before they are upon the pair and yanking her off of him. I snipe the one on the ground through the neck before he can regain control of his gun, leaving Johanna in sole possession of it. Unfortunately, one of the three reinforcements kicks it from her hands almost immediately and they finally overpower her with tight grips on her arms from behind. I pop off three desperate shots, managing only to kill one and hit another in the shoulder before they spot me and the one I shot begins returning fire.

I drop to my stomach and crawl over a few feet before propping myself up on my forearms and taking aim again. I fixate on a chink in the shooter’s armor just as he points his gun directly at me. The insuppressible impulse to flinch causes my shot to fly off target but probably also saves me from death. I move once again and when I next pop my head up I notice that the burly Peacekeeper who is now manhandling Johanna on his own is backing up toward the corner with her pulled up tight against him, the other one aiming at my rooftop from behind him. My stomach curls up inside me. They are using her as a shield. What’s worse, they could round the corner and be out of my sight in seconds, long before I have time to reload.

I think back to scenario’s start and try to tally my trigger pulls. Three early on before I almost took out Kearns and his girl. At least four at the Peacekeeper I encountered in the street. Five more at the deadbolt. One at each of the first two I shot dead from the roof. Two at the third one. And two at the current shooter. I have no more than two shots left in this magazine. I curse myself for wasting so many rounds on the fucking lock. Talk about a dire situation. The whole rest of our squad could easily be dead, and if there’s no one to delay our enemies’ retreat to the north, there’s no way I could get down from here in time to catch up to them. A jump from thirty feet would break my legs, and that would be a stupid move even if this were an actual battle because I’d be in no shape to give chase. So if they escape me now, Johanna is fucked.

I make the split-second decision to prioritize taking down the Peacekeeper restraining Johanna because if he falls it could buy me the time to reload, not to mention it frees her and maybe she could shoot the other one with his comrade’s gun if I don’t have a second bullet for him. But even killing one will be difficult with their full face shields protecting their heads and Johanna now blocking most of their bodies. Unsure if a single bullet could pierce the mask with lethal force, I instead hone in and snap a shot at a tiny gap just above the big guy’s clavicle, only inches from Johanna’s face.

He stays on his feet. I missed.

The numbness of shock in my brain contrasts highly with the burst of panic in my chest and gut. The crack of gunfire from the street is what kicks my mind back into action and makes me flatten on the roof again. Johanna’s chances of escape just plummeted. Even if my last shot is true, assuming I do have one more, what are her chances against the shooter on her own while I reload? But I am not one to let low odds deter me, so I suck in a deep breath and try to muster all my focus and bravery. It was undoubtedly my fear of shooting Johanna that caused me to misfire. I can’t let that fear deter me from saving her.

My stomach bucks violently as it suddenly hits me that there is another way to help my partner, one with much better odds of success. My whole body shudders in objection, but the most pragmatic part of my brain knows that time is of the essence and she is counting on me. So I start emptying my lungs in a bid to steady myself mentally and physically. Raise my head, peer down through my scope, fixate on my target. And shoot Johanna between the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and excellent technical advice.
> 
> Updates may be a bit slower coming now because I have started working on a Peacekeeper!Jo AU as a side project. I'm really excited for it; it's fun to write in a different voice and from another character's perspective. But with the different style, I doubt it will be as time or labour intensive as this one, so hopefully it won't impede my progress on Lifeblood all too much.


	8. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience during a longer delay. I've been having more problems with headbumps sapping my energy but I was also still working, and on top of that I was putting together chapter 1 of my Peacekeeper!Jo AU (shameless plug: go read it). But I am back now, and back to my old habits of fluffy angst. And angst in general.
> 
> Trigger warnings for non-graphic descriptions of violence/torture, PTSD, and self-harm (that one's minor, but better safe than sorry).

Shooting Johanna rattled me even more than I’d anticipated. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, seeing her go limp in her captor’s arms as a direct consequence of me pulling my trigger almost sent me into a full-blown panic attack. It’s sure to show up in my next round of nightmares. Most of my focus is on trying to quell the tremors in my hands while I sit in the debriefing, so I don’t register much of what our head instructor is saying. Just that six out of eight of us succumbed to poison gas and we had but one survivor. That would be me. I don’t remember climbing back down, but the scenario was called off once I staggered the few yards back to our intended rendezvous point. I don’t catch many more words in the debriefing, mostly just his unimpressed tone of voice.

I raise my eyes from my lap toward the end of it and Johanna catches my eye from the bench across from me. She’s already stripped half her gear off and is scrutinizing my demeanor. She raises a concerned eyebrow and I nod in reply. Yes, I’m fine. I’m the one who survived, right? But I’m off my game and thankful that this was our last scenario of the day. The emotional consequences of what I just did notwithstanding, what knockout gas I did inhale is giving me a wicked headache.

Johanna chases me down in the hall as I wander mindlessly out of the weapons lockup a few minutes later. “Hey!” She sidles up to me and nudges me with her shoulder. “Thanks for killing me.” I look down at her face and detect a note of seriousness behind her joking expression and tone. She’s not being sarcastic and she doesn’t seem angry.

I smile in relief and sling an arm over her shoulders, pull her into my side as we walk. “Anytime,” I tease. “I always knew one of us was going to off the other.”

Johanna laughs and playfully bumps hips this time. “I always thought it would be the other way around,” she grins.

“Please,” I snort. But I can’t keep my jocular façade up for long. I bite my lip in an attempt to drag my consciousness away from my troubled mind, but when I’m unsuccessful I find myself babbling again. “You know what you said about doing things you don’t want to do in battle?” Johanna nods and hums in affirmation. “I was down to my last shot,” I explain apologetically. “I didn’t think there was any way I could save you.”

Brown eyes catch mine meaningfully as Johanna looks up and wraps her arm around my waist. “You did save me,” she declares unequivocally. “You don’t have to justify your decision to me, Katniss. You did the right thing.” When I arc my eyebrows up in surprise with a trace of a smug smirk, she rolls her eyes before dropping them to the floor and murmuring, “Some things are worse than death.” So she does understand why I did it. That’s a relief, but the reminder of Johanna’s torture now joins the trauma of shooting her in lambasting my mind, and the hint of levity drops from my expression. Johanna must note this when she next looks up because she jostles me with her arm and attempts to grin. “Good on you, Twelve. You made a smart choice, for once,” she teases, reaching across her body and tapping my head playfully.

I halt abruptly and grab her sleeve as she walks out from under my arm, jerking her back. I catch a slight air of annoyance when she pivots to face me and cocks an eyebrow, but her eyes tell me she’s legitimately paying attention. “I would never let them capture you again,” I proclaim earnestly. “Not after what they did to you.” I smooth the fabric over her shoulder with my palm while she looks on, her expression unreadable. It’s a long moment before she finally reaches up to cover my hand with her own.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she states assuredly, giving it a gentle squeeze. She resumes our progress toward home and beckons me to follow. I’ve just caught up to Johanna when she utters the three most meaningful words in the world, and three of the most surprising coming from her. “I trust you.”

***

“Name two tactics a grenadier can employ to prevent enemy soldiers from returning his live fire prior to detonation.”

“Uh…” I look from Gale’s patient face to the practice exam he’s holding and back again. “The hard throw, skip/bounce technique?”

“Very good,” he grins proudly. “And a second one?” I crinkle my face in thought but can only draw blanks. I know this, I’m sure I do, but my concentration is shot. My mind is still in the Block, and it has nothing to do with grenades. “Do you need a hint?”

“Give me a minute.” I take a deep breath and direct my gaze down at my crossed legs and Gale’s blankets beneath them. I wasn’t planning to study with him tonight, but maybe it’s for the best. Johanna’s serious about studying but we’re both too easily distracted to hold each other to the task. Our usual study session was cancelled by Finnick over dinner when he insisted on indulging in some quality bro time, as he put it, with Jo while Annie went to her head doctor appointment this evening. Finnick got his way, of course, thus becoming the second person in as many nights to usurp my alone time with Johanna. Spending time with her in public and in private are totally different experiences, so I think it’s reasonable for me to be pissed.

“Katniss.”

“What?” I blink and snap my head back up. “Sorry.”

“Pay attention,” Gale instructs me firmly. “Hard throw, skip/bounce and…?” Right, grenades. To prevent a return throw, you can make it difficult to control or… or make it explode sooner.

“Releasing the lever before throwing,” I answer.

“Good,” Gale replies with a satisfied nod. “Do you remember the technical name for doing that?” I stare back at him blankly. “Think Greasy Sae.”

“Cooking,” I respond immediately with a grin. Gale smiles and flips the page over. “Wait, how many questions do I have left?” I ask suddenly.

“Eight. Why?”

I check his bedside clock and immediately hop off the bed. “We’ll have to finish it later. I have to beat Johanna home if I want time to shower.” I eye up my wounded hand and muse, “Or whatever. I might give it another day.” I catch Gale’s eye again and babble, “She never uses the shower but she still takes forever in the bathroom sometimes. She’s unpredictable.”

Gale raises an amused eyebrow and slides off the bed. “I’ll walk you.” The two compartments his family occupies are maybe two minutes from mine, so it’s not much extra time with him, but I’ll take it. I haven’t been especially bothered by how little I’ve seen of Gale lately what with our different training classes and his work with Beetee, but I should probably make an effort to hang out with my best friend once in awhile. Despite the friction in our relationship since arriving in Thirteen, whenever I spend time with him I remember how much I miss him. We’re almost home by the time he inquires, “So how are things with the lumberjack, anyway?”

I shove my hands in my hip pockets and nonchalantly reply, “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?” he pries.

I narrow my eyes at the boy, wary of his sudden interest. “How else would you expect them to be?” I ask, trying to fight the defensive tone I hear infiltrating my voice. “We haven’t killed each other, and that was about my highest hope upon entering the situation.”

“Quite the lofty goal,” he snickers.

I return his smirk and elbow him in the ribs. “Well you know how we are.”

“Fiery,” he utters without hesitation. That’s accurate. In more ways than one, if our little adventure during S.S.C. was any indication.

We’ve reached my door, so I turn and study his face. “You still don’t trust her, do you?” I hesitantly question him.

Gale shrugs. “I trust that her intentions are good.” We both ruminate on that for a moment before he smiles half-heartedly and says, “Goodnight, Katniss.” I’m left slightly perplexed after he walks away, but I decide to worry about this later. I have too much on my mind already.

Johanna is not home yet, so I go to grab my sleeping clothes from the dresser. I’m about to shut my drawer when my gaze falls on my small stack of underwear and I start to grin stupidly. Jo’s really cute when she wears these, too bad it’s mostly just in bed and I don’t really get to enjoy the view. It’s no different than if she was wearing pants once we’re under the covers because I always wear them and that blocks direct contact. But… come to think of it, nothing is stopping me from changing my routine.

A fantasy of the feeling of our bare legs tangling between the sheets flashes through my mind and ignites my gut and groin. No question, I’m making this happen tonight. Really, it’s brilliant. It’s a subtle, safe way to move things along further. It’s one thing to get up the courage to make a move that Johanna can block, but what I wear or don’t wear is completely under my control.

I make my way to the bathroom and begin the process of wiping myself down with a hand towel. When I slip the tiny undershorts on after working my way down past my hips, I stare in disbelief at my reflection and wonder what the hell has happened to me. These feelings for Johanna are driving me to do the most ridiculous things. I’m in too deep. I’m not sure that I care.

I’m toweling off my legs when I hear Johanna slide the compartment door open and shut. She wastes no time before pounding on the bathroom door. “Hey Everdeen, you done in there? I need a turn too, you know!” she blusters. I roll my eyes. “I’m not getting ready for bed in the dark because your high-maintenance ass takes too long.”

“I’m done changing!” I call out blandly, refusing to take to the bait. “You can come in.”

Jo enters the room and immediately eyes up my attire. “Where’s your PJ pants?” she asks, dropping her own sleeping clothes on the counter and grabbing another hand towel. It’s very convenient that I have to look down to clean my feet because I’m apparently a terrible liar and I’m afraid my face will give me away. The real reason is too embarrassing to admit. I sit down on the toilet and prop my ankle up on my opposite knee, only answer once my face is safely pointed downward.

“I’m too warm sometimes now that we’re sharing the bed,” I fib while I hear Johanna wetting her cloth. It’s kind of true, just not my true motivation. The sound of her chuckle makes me whip my head back up irritably.

“You could have told me, brainless,” she smirks. “I can just go back to my own bed if you’re too hot.”

“No!” I protest instantly, startling us both with my urgency. I feel heat seeping into my cheeks under Johanna’s surprised and studious expression and go back to wiping my foot, fully expecting her to razz me.

“I was kidding,” she reassures me a moment later. I look up and meet her sincere gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you.” Some kind of warmth smolders in my core and pushes a dumb smile onto my face, one I couldn’t have stopped had I tried. Rather than the warmth from the beach and the Block, it’s more like what I felt yesterday while watching her interact with my family. Still affection, I suppose, just of a different kind.

I eventually drop my head again, mostly out of sheepishness but also because I need to wipe down my other foot. Once I’ve dried them both, I return my attention to my roommate who is staring hard into the mirror and scrubbing her face. A week’s worth of curiosity finally gets to me and I ask her, “Johanna? Why don’t you ever use the shower?” She stops and gives me a strange look via the reflection of the mirror.

“You staying I stink, Everdeen?” she asks me dangerously. I know better than to pry, but I also know that sometimes I have to if I want a straight answer out of this girl.

“No, you don’t,” I proceed cautiously, “it just seems easier to jump in the shower than to go to all the trouble of a sponge bath.”

Johanna just shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m from a poor area of my district; we didn’t have showers. I’m just used to this.” That I can understand, but she’s been a victor for three years longer than I have and I’ve adjusted just fine.

“Yeah, but your house in the Village, didn’t you have one there?”

“I didn’t move to the Village when I won,” she states plainly, resuming her progress and moving on to her neck. I’m about to ask why, but then I figure it out on my own.

“Because of your family? They didn’t want to move?” I ask in a tone similar to one I’d use when approaching a wounded animal.

“Basically,” she cavalierly agrees in that overly high tone she sometimes gets. She catches my eye in the mirror again and smirks, “But you’re lying about me stinking.”

“Just because you smell doesn’t mean you smell bad,” I argue before I can stop myself. Truth be told, I like how she smells when she’s all sweaty. Yep, I’m done for. I still don’t care.

I turn away from Johanna’s reflection to hide the slight resurgence of my blush and strain to gather my clothes off the floor from my sitting position. When I do stand up, I freeze on the spot when I notice Johanna peeling her shirt off right beside me. She lifts it over her head, revealing the array of scars along with the expanse of her skin and leaving me a confusing mess of aroused and disturbed. She shoots me this challenging look, just daring me to grimace. “You wanted to see them, didn’t you?”

I fight to control my face given what she said I’d looked like last time. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s testing me. “That’s not really the word for it,” I reply evenly. “I was staring because I was in shock.”

“I know,” she admits. She shifts a shoulder forward and peeks over it to get a look for herself. “Only reason they healed half-decently is they brought in a doctor to patch me up. I think they were afraid I might pick up a lethal infection.” She laughs sardonically, turns her head farther and lifts her face to catch my eye directly and display a caustic smirk. “Can’t have that, right? Need to keep me alive for more.” She releases another half-hearted cackle and starts taking her poorly concealed emotions out on her arms, rubbing the skin aggressively as she continues, “So he stopped the bleeding, cleaned me up. No morphling, though. Nothing like that.”

I can’t even imagine. And I don’t want to try, but my brain insists. The pain of just getting my hand cleaned out times twenty-one, at least. Gale’s verbal and kinetic reaction to my mother pouring the alcohol over his wounds to disinfect them was telling enough. He had snow and morphling to numb the pain after that, and even he suffered terribly. All I could do to help was watch over him and try to break through with whatever form of comfort I could provide. That might be the worst part. Johanna had not only had no painkillers, but no companion throughout the whole ordeal. No one to hold her hand and kiss her lips. No one to simply be there. No one.

I swallow the lump in my throat and barely manage to get out a gravelly whisper. “You were all alone.”

Johanna pauses her movements and falters, “Not entirely. There was someone.” She briefly catches my eye in the mirror before blinking away and resuming the sponge bath on her stomach and lower back. “We were dragged out of our cells for the actual torture, but they’d finished with me for the day and thrown me back in by the time the doctor came to see me.” She draws in a shuddering breath and I automatically lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Guards had to hold me down so he could do his work. Ended up needing restraints.” My eyes are pulled from the mirror as I notice the woman’s hands moving behind her back to unclasp her bra. I lift my hand momentarily to allow her to slide the straps down her arms. I resolve to keep my eyes down, out of respect. Despite Johanna’s exhibitionist proclivities and my familiarity with her entire figure, now doesn’t seem like an appropriate time for more voyeurism.

“Peeta was my lifeline.” My eyes snap back up at that and catch hers. Keeping them there is easier than I expected. She smiles wryly and elucidates, “He couldn’t get to me physically, but he heard me screaming and started calling across the wall. Kind of like when he just put his hand on the glass wall during the jabberjay attack, stayed beside you the whole time, let you know he was there.” I shudder at the memory but nod my understanding at the girl, who’s watching me closely and waiting for a response. She closes her eyes and finally continues, “He just said, ‘I hear you, Johanna. I hear you. I hear you.’” She swallows and blinks her eyes back open, revealing a few tears that refuse to fall.

I squeeze her shoulder and try to smile. “That sounds like Peeta.” The Peeta of old. My Peeta.

As though reading my mind, Jo commiserates, “It was what I needed. He always knew what to say.” The past tense in that statement smarts. Even now, having discovered so many feelings that I never had for him and knowing that our relationship would never have felt complete, I still miss him terribly. And some tiny part of me resents the fact that even if he recovers fully, things will never be the same between us now that I’ve fallen in love with Johanna. I realize that that’s a horribly selfish sentiment to hold, but it’s nestled into my thoughts nonetheless.

“He took a beating for it.” Johanna’s cautious words bring me back to the conversation. I try to keep my face neutral under her penetrating gaze. “But he did it again that night when he heard me crying. It hurt so much, I couldn’t stop.” Her voice starts to waver during that last sentence, causing my own eyes to water and sting. “I ended up screaming for him sometimes, too,” she admits, “not just you. That day included.” She hesitates a second before adding, “And him for me.” And so the unlikely alliance was forged.

Johanna reaches over her shoulder to try to wipe her upper back, but I wordlessly take the cloth from her and duck my head before she can make eye contact via the glass. I can’t let her see my tears. She’d probably think they’re for Peeta, which is largely untrue. Even so, she shouldn’t have to comfort me over something that happened to her. Something that happened to her because of me, no less. I do my penance diligently, cleaning the marred yet resiliently beautiful landscape of muscles and bones. I run the dry end of the towel over the skin and then reach around Johanna and lay it on the counter. Transfixed and burdened with guilt, I rest my hand on her shoulder again and softly – barely – trace my thumb over the top of one of the streaks. I’ve just leaned forward and placed my lips there every bit as gently when she says, “I don’t know if the doctor told them not to reopen the wounds or whatever, but they never did it again. But maybe they weren’t going to anyway. I mean,” she laughs sardonically, “it _was_ a special occasion.” She pulls away from me to grab her sleeping shirt and tugs it on self-consciously, effectively ending the intimate moment. “Whatever, maybe they healed okay but they’re still ugly anyway.” 

Thrown by her sudden change in demeanor, I cross my arms over my stomach and tease her, “I’d think you’d be the type to say that scars add character.”

“Oh sure,” she agrees, turning to face me, “battle scars, scars from accidents and such, ones that show I’ve fought and survived. I was so fucking mad when the full body polish erased all my old ones from before my Games. But scars from a time when I was made helpless are different.” I narrow my eyes curiously and she elaborates, “They’re not honorable. They make me look weak, remind me of a time when I was.”

“No,” I argue immediately. “No, you weren’t weak. If you were weak, you would have told them what they wanted to know just so it would stop.” I stare intently into Johanna’s widened eyes and declare, “The scars from your torture prove more than any of the others just how strong you are.” I think I detect more tears welling up before she blinks down to the floor.

“They’re still a bad reminder of something I’d rather forget,” she mumbles. I reach out on impulse and tilt her chin up, confirming my suspicions when she begrudgingly looks me in the eye again. I unconsciously move my hand over to cup her cheek, beset by an overwhelming urge to kiss her. That’s just like me, kissing away the pain when I feel powerless to help in any other way. Handing out my affection like food to the starving, though I’m emaciated myself. I’m trying to gather the courage to lean in when she slaps a hand below my collarbones and literally pushes me away. “Don’t get all sappy on me now, Everdeen,” she warns me drolly.

I sigh heavily and toss my hands up in frustration. “That is exactly what I was talking about yesterday,” I scold her.

Johanna deflates and drops her eyes to her feet, leaning away from me to brace her hands on the counter behind her. “Sorry,” she mumbles contritely. “I just… I’m not very good at the whole ‘friends’ thing.” A kindred spirit.

“We’re not friends,” I respond matter-of-factly. She squints up at me and I grin despite myself. “We hate each other, remember?” This culls a sharp laugh from the smaller girl and she pushes off into a standing position.

“Right,” she chuckles. “How could I forget?” She hooks her thumbs under the waistbands of her pants and underwear and has just begun to drag them downward when she looks up and catches me gawking. She stops abruptly and shoots me a devilish smirk. “What, you want to stay for the rest of the show?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. I kind of do, but instead I just treat her to the same look and wordless exit I gave Finnick when he asked me if I wanted to take him for a walk.

On my way to the sleeping nook, my mind is stuck replaying our latest almost-kiss. There’s been a lot more of those than actual kisses between us, and it’s a source of great frustration for me. It was so easy for me to kiss her back to reality on the shooting range, but whenever she’s fully there and looking me in the eye, I freeze up. Come to think of it, she’s never kissed me while looking me in the eye either. It kind of feels like we haven’t actually kissed yet. Our kisses have occurred almost exclusively in situations where the receiver is disoriented, in situations where we can walk away and then pretend it never happened in the harsh light of day. I guess neither of us could deny what happened in the Block, but the fact that we could barely see each other notwithstanding, it feels like another world in there, almost like it didn’t really happen. I can’t even begin to figure out how to bring it up. And in the lone exception to the rule, the hummingbird room, Johanna caught me off guard and I never had a chance to stop her.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’re both just such guarded chickenshits that neither of us can risk the rejection of being stopped, ergo only kissing the other when she is vulnerable or at least ill-prepared to refuse. Such morally upstanding individuals, we are. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t kiss her just now. Even with her capability to refuse, it wouldn’t have been for the right reasons. It’s undoubtedly why she pushed me away, whether she anticipated the kiss or not. She hates pity.

I start to question what exactly qualifies as a good enough reason to kiss Johanna when she joins me in bed a few minutes later, rolls me over and wraps herself around me. The unobstructed contact when her legs glide along mine as they snake into position shoots shivers and heat down my spine straight into my groin, momentarily robbing me of control of my own body. A small breathy grunt pushes out of my lips against my will while my back arches away from her and the back of my head pushes into her face. Johanna gives me a moment before drawing me back into her so her breasts and stomach are pressed flush up against my back again. She settles her hand just below my ribcage and I lay mine on her forearm. If Johanna fears electricity, I wonder how she’s handling what feels suspiciously like it in every inch of our contiguous skin. What the hell possessed me to make me think that this course of action was safe? I craved this contact and imagined how amazing it might feel, but I couldn’t have possibly imagined how unprepared I would be for my own bodily reactions. It’s an all-encompassing struggle to keep my breathing under control and thus the extent of my arousal under wraps. My heartbeat has sped up wildly and I can hear it in my ears. And feel it in my crotch, along with the growing flood of dampness in my underwear.

Johanna’s thumb sweeps back and forth over my stomach aggravatingly slowly and I wish she would just kiss me already. She did earlier, so it stands to reason that she’d want to again. But I know Johanna Mason. She takes what she wants. And she’s not taking me, not in any sense of the word. I know she kissed me in the Block to establish her identity and to shut me up so I wouldn’t give away our position to the Peacekeepers. Maybe those were the only reasons for it. Perhaps she got caught up in the moment once I kissed her back but doesn’t have much desire to repeat the adventure. Or maybe she was just having fun getting a reaction out of me again, like in the elevator and multiple times during training. I’ll bet she got a good laugh out of it with Finnick.

Though I suspect those fears aren’t entirely reasonable, they aren’t my only ones. Admittedly, I’m scared of what it could escalate to if we did kiss right now, in my bed, with not much clothing on, when I’m already worked up. As much as my whole body is screaming that it wants to do anything and everything it can do with Johanna, some part of my brain is still terrified. I’ve never done anything like that before, and my abundant natural nerves in the situation would only be exacerbated by Johanna’s tendency to mock my naivety. She makes enough fun of me for things I’m good at, let alone things I have no idea how to do. And even if I were confident in my own skills of that kind, I’m most of all terrified of attempting to initiate such things. I can’t even get up the guts to kiss the girl, for fuck’s sake. I can never predict whether Johanna will pull me closer or push me away in any given situation, and in one like this where the stakes are higher, there’s no way I could risk the rejection and embarrassment.

I now realize that as good as this feels, the frustration is killing me and this was probably a very bad idea. I settle for allowing my imagination to whir with the things I only wish I was doing in reality. Flipping over and taking her mouth passionately, dragging her bottom lip between my teeth, losing control to my impulses. It’s really not helping to alleviate the steadily intensifying ache in the throbbing region between my legs. Neither is her foot that’s lazily stroking my shin. I bite my lip to silence a needy whimper and fist a handful of sheets to stop myself from grabbing her hand and dragging it lower. Or even just moving my own lower, to be perfectly honest. I silently plea for sleep to save me from this self-inflicted torture before I do something to embarrass myself. But with every tiny movement, every bit of friction between our skin, it becomes increasingly clear that the odds aren’t in my favor.

***

“Katniss, help!”

The shrieks of the jabberjays are torturously loud, and the voice they mimic torturously familiar. Not that I’ve heard it from them before, but I’ve been hearing a lot of it lately. But Johanna must be okay. She’s in the arena with me, I remember. She must be okay. Unfortunately, the creatures’ attempts to convince me otherwise are quite excellent. I shield my head with my arms to fend off the dive-bombing birds and scan the area with wild eyes in search of a landmark to help me escape the jungle. The vegetation is unhelpful, being pretty uniform both in the sky and on the sloping floor of the jungle. A sudden spark of hope flares up in me. It’s downhill to the beach. Johanna’s on the beach. If I can get back there, I’ll see her and know she’s okay for sure, even if I can’t escape the wedge.

I flee down the hill with abandon, losing control to gravity but hardly caring because the tradeoff is speed, which I desperately need. The birds give chase, piercing my skin with their beaks and my heart and sanity with their screams. My lungs burn ferociously from exertion and anxiety, my breaths growing increasingly shallow. The tree line mercifully comes into view and I catch sight of Peeta standing at the edge of the jungle in a white smock mottled with colorful smudges, holding a palette dotted with dollops of paint, working on some piece on an easel. His eyebrows, previously furrowed in concentration, jump when he sees me coming. He takes a few steps forward before suddenly stumbling backward and then motioning for me to stop. It looks like he’s yelling but I can’t hear him. More disturbingly, I can’t see Johanna. A vague memory of crashing into an invisible barrier causes me to slow before reaching Peeta.

“Where’s Johanna?” I demand just as the first few birds catch up and swarm me, reprising their horrific tune. Peeta holds his hand to his ear in a gesture for me to speak up. “Where’s Johanna?” I repeat, exaggerating the movements of my lips. Recognition crosses his face and he looks to each side before regaining eye contact and shaking his head apologetically. I’m already starting to buckle in despair, but now the main pack of jabberjays arrives, and with it a new wave of hysteria. I track the birds visually for a few seconds before turning back to Peeta and catching his eye pleadingly. The panic is evident in his face too, but I can see he’s trying to stay strong for me. He drops his palette and lifts his left hand to rest on the barrier.

“I’m here,” he mouths. “I’m here.” He’s not who I’m ultimately looking for, but he’s someone, some kind of familiar comfort. I place my hand on the glass across from his and stare into the baby blues that were once so grounding for me, trying to remind myself that this is not mutt-Peeta and I can trust him. He suddenly removes his hand so he can bend over to reach the sand and dab his brush in red paint. Peeta replaces his hand opposite mine immediately upon straightening up and then draws something that looks kind of like an ear on the glass wall. I only recognize it as half of a heart when he draws its mirror image beside it. Hot tears roll relentlessly down my cheeks and I’m not even sure what’s causing them anymore, the sights or the sounds. Peeta or Johanna. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sting and lean forward to rest my forehead wearily against the barrier.

A deafening shriek pierces through the din of all the others, causing my eyes to fly open and tearing me away from the wall against all logic. I leave Peeta and his artwork in my dust in the pursuit of Johanna. I’ve been running toward the voice for only a short time before the jungle thins out and starts giving way to brick façades. I charge through a winding labyrinth of buildings, feet pounding on packed dirt as I try to reorient myself to Johanna’s location. I skid to a stop when I’m spit out of the maze in a place I think I recognize. I bend over and rest my hands on my knees, trying to regain my breath and my bearings under the blazing summer sun. It’s several seconds before I realize that my panting is now the only ambient sound. I straighten up warily and creep my way closer to the tunnel by the town square, listening carefully but hearing only bits of loose gravel crunching underfoot.

“Katniss!” Johanna screams again, and this time I can identify exactly where it’s coming from. I explode into a desperate sprint toward the tunnel. “No! Stop!” I’ve just reached the brick arch once her next vocalization reaches me, a grunt of effort or pain. Given my location, I immediately know which one it is. It feels like the ground is dropping out beneath me but I push onward, and by the time she next makes that noise I am close enough to make out the telltale whistling and crack just preceding it. “Katniss!” I hear her shriek once more, and though its proximity heightens my distress, it is also a source of hope. I can get there. I can answer Johanna’s cry for my help, unlike in the Capitol. I can save her from her abuser. I can save her.

My mind is so paralyzed by alarm and by this pattern of thoughts that I have bolted up the stairs and through the crowd before I even realize it. I do my best to assess the situation en route to the spectacle in the center of the square. As expected, my girl is shackled to the whipping post and taking a vicious flogging from a Peacekeeper. The fact that it’s expected doesn’t make it any less gut-wrenching to see her wounded and helpless. She’s wearing only the bottom half of her Training Center outfit, the tank top cast off to the side, her shaggy dark mane messily tied up at the back of her head. She’s all but hanging by her wrists, and when she lets out only a weak moan and lacks the strength to buck on impact at the next strike, I understand why. She’s on the verge of unconsciousness. That’s good, in a way.

I reach her assailant just as he’s winding up again. “Stop!” I lunge forward and arrest his arm in a fierce grip. “Stop it! You’ll kill her!” The Peacekeeper turns and I brace myself for a punch from his free arm, but it never comes. Instead he reaches up with his left hand and tears his helmet off, unmasking his face. Or her face, I should say. I stagger backward in shock, gaping into cold, gray eyes.

“What good fortune,” I hear in a voice that vaguely resembles my own but is so sullied with malevolence that I might not recognize it were I not staring at my own face. “My arm was just getting tired,” she smirks, holding out the hilt of the weapon in my direction. I stare at her dumbly for a moment before I understand what she means. My eyes pop open and I gulp and shake my head, sneaking a glance at Johanna even though it’s an extremely unpleasant sight. The Peacekeeper’s face falls into an angry glower and she steps closer, thrusting the handle roughly into my chest. “You’ll take over right now, or I’ll shoot you on the spot,” she threatens me.

I shake my head again and take a few lateral steps to stand between her and Johanna. I swallow dryly in an attempt to find my voice. “Go ahead,” I manage to say, truly meaning it. “Some things are worse than death.”

“Why not?” Katniss viciously spits in my ear. “You didn’t give a rat’s ass when this was actually happening to her, did you?” I tremble in anger at her words and their truth. “You just cared about the fucking baker.”

“I care now!” I scream in her face. “If you want me to take over, fine. I’ll take over for her. Let me take her place.” Katniss cocks an amused eyebrow, now resting the whip almost casually on her hip. “You know we earned it anyway,” I appeal, “what with all that poaching we did off the government’s land.”

She laughs. She actually fucking laughs. I can feel my face flushing as my teeth begin to grind and my hands curl into fists. I’m about to boil over and start swinging when she nods and gestures toward Johanna, an evil smirk curling her lips. “Be my guest,” she taunts me.

With one final angry glare, I give the woman a curt nod and swivel to face the person I came to save. I walk slowly, deliberately toward the whimpering, bleeding girl quaking at the foot of the post. I’m halfway there before I think to disrobe. I grab the hem of my shirt and peel it off my sweaty skin and up over my head, toss it on the ground. I kneel down behind Johanna and make quick work of shucking my bra and pressing my front up against her, because I guess even in this moment I am still a prude. I slide my hands up her arms until they are cupping hers and bury my face in her hair. “I’m so sorry, Johanna,” I whisper hoarsely as I brace myself.

She turns her head a little to make eye contact, and her forlorn, truly defeated expression sets my gut twisting. “No, you’re not,” she mumbles. And then the first lash strikes.

I shoot upright in bed with a cry of pain and fear, gripping the sheets with white knuckles. My eyes dart around wildly as they struggle to adjust to the dim light and I attempt to orient myself to whatever threats surround me. Between my labored gasping for breath and my haziness from just exiting the dream state, I barely register Johanna’s voice. She finally breaks through via the sense of touch, but I jerk away the instant her fingers contact my shoulder.

“Hey, Katniss, it’s okay,” she enunciates soothingly. “You’re awake now.” She leans closer and starts to wrap an arm around my shoulders but is quickly thwarted when I turn and smack my palms into her chest, shoving her almost off the bed. I scramble backward into the sloping wall and the small hollow beneath it, tuck my knees into my chest and encircle them with my arms. I shut my eyes tightly, start rocking along to my hyperventilations, and return to my mantra I use to reestablish grip on reality. My name is Ka… my name is something I don’t want to hear right now. “Katniss.” I open my eyes in time to see Jo’s hand moving to my knee and swat her away once again. It’s not that I don’t want her touch or her comfort, but I can’t accept it. I can’t have her holding me close after that. Not after I had to save her from myself, not after I heard her crying out my name in a plea for me to stop rather than a plea for my help. 

Johanna simply observes me for a few moments, her face betraying insult but also concern. Eventually she crawls across the bed and sits down beside me, but respects my wishes and stays a good six inches to my right. I don’t acknowledge her, just curl my trembling body into a tighter ball and dig my nails into my shins. I could tell any observer that it’s to ground me in reality, and that would be somewhat true, but really I just want to inflict pain on myself.

It’s probably at least a minute before Jo adds another grounding influence when she chances a soft hand low on my back. I exhale loudly and shudder but don’t push her off this time, so she gently increases the pressure and starts tracing light patterns with her fingertips. She waits another moment before taking my closest fist in her hand and slowly massaging it open. Once she’s repeated the action on my other hand and cupped it loosely around my far knee, Johanna finally reaches up to my shoulder and gently pulls me into her side. I don’t resist her this time, I just try to hold in the choked sobs fighting their way out of me along with the abundance of tears blazing wet trails and weighing down my eyelashes.

“It’s okay, darling,” she coos. “It’s okay. You’re here with me.” My shaking increases and she tries to rub some warmth back into my arms, but this only intensifies the problem, so she guides me back down onto the bed and under the covers. “That’s what you get for not wearing pants,” she teases, and I almost laugh through my tears despite my consternation. Johanna rolls onto her back and extends a welcoming arm, and all the guilt in the world couldn’t stop me from taking her up on the offer at the moment. I squirm over and hook a leg over her knees, grip her shirt tightly, and rest my head over her heart. I focus on its steady beat and try to will mine to match it.

“I thought this was helping,” she sighs a few minutes later, trailing her hand down my back to indicate that she’s referring to the cuddling. “With your nightmares.” I close my eyes at the sensation of the fingers of her free hand weaving into my hair while she admits, “It’s been helping me.”

I push out a heavy breath. “It was,” I rasp. I rub the fabric between my fingers and add, “The last couple of days have just brought up some awful things.”

“Katniss.” I obey the implied command in Johanna’s quiet voice by shifting so I can look her in the eye. Hers are troubled. “I’m sorry I said what I did,” she apologizes. “About Glimmer, I mean.” My mouth and innards distort as I feel my eyes narrowing. I don’t bother trying to hide my visceral reaction to the mere mention of the girl’s death. The guilt grows on Johanna’s face as she forges on. “That was cruel, even for me. I just really wanted to get my point across.”

I twitch my eyebrows ironically in response, but though I turn away from her I still lay my head back down on her chest. “Well, you did,” I gripe. I’m not going to lie and tell her it’s okay.

“Did I hurt you?” she inquires shakily after a brief silence. “In the dream?”

I furrow my brow but then realize that she had absolutely no context for me pushing her away upon waking. “No,” is all I give up. But it’s enough to make her relax under me and release an ample sigh of relief. She absentmindedly caresses my back and scalp for a few moments before prying further.

“What was it?”

“The birds again.” I can’t bring myself to describe the other part. “Sort of.”

“It’s not real,” she assures me with a graze of her fingers down my side. “Prim’s safe next door.” I briefly consider not correcting her, but then I realize that I want to. I want her to know.

I suck in a breath then adjust my positioning and crane my neck to regain eye contact. “It wasn’t Prim this time,” I tell her, slowly and waveringly.

She must catch the meaning in my expression and tone, because her face crinkles and her hands still. “I’ve had that dream before too,” she confesses.

“The jabberjays scream at you in your own voice?” I probe curiously.

“Your voice,” she corrects me, stealing my breath and sending tingles down my every limb. I roll more of my weight forward onto her and rest my chin above her breast so I can fully see her face. “But I’m not in the arena where I know you’re actually safe, at least logically,” she continues. “I’m in my cell in the Capitol when the jabberjays find me. But they don’t stop after an hour. Just like Peeta.” She suddenly catches herself and searches my face for signs of another breakdown. I don’t know what she sees, but she just mumbles, “Tick, tock.”

“Tick, tock,” I echo in a whisper. Johanna pushes an aggressive puff of air through her lips and moves her eyes to her empty bed. The set of her jaw reveals her struggle to hold it together. I sneak a finger under the collar of her shirt and graze it along her clavicle, waiting silently for her to elaborate if she so desires.

“And I can’t even cover my ears or curl up in a ball because I’m strapped down to the bed, like when the doctor was…” Her voice fails her as I feel a shudder move through the body beneath me, so I extricate my finger and lay my palm steadily on her chest. “It’s not just you, though. Sometimes it’s Finnick, sometimes it’s my family. Or other people I cared about.”

“People Snow took away from you?” I venture.

“People Snow killed,” she responds darkly. She smirks up at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I don’t call her on it. “It’s okay, Everdeen. I’m a murderer. I can handle the K-word.”

I slide off of Johanna and turn onto my side, and when she doesn’t immediately follow suit I pull on her shirt. She obeys the silent order, rolling over to face me and meeting my eyes. It’s a moment before I can summon the courage to ask, “Was it because you wouldn’t… do what he made Finnick do?”

She nods slowly, her eyes still pointed at me but focused elsewhere. “Lucky for Finnick, he was untouchable, being a victor himself. The rest of my friends got picked off. I liked to believe they were legitimate accidents at first, but after a few I knew it was no coincidence.” She seems to return to the moment, smiling wryly, dark and damp eyes fixated on mine once again. “They were the warning. I should have listened, but it just made me more determined not to give in to that son of a bitch.” I nod. I am very familiar with that urge, but given how things have turned out for Johanna I’m glad I didn’t give in to it.

“My boyfriend was next.” Her words yank me back to the moment and stir my gut. I strain to keep my face impassive, though I doubt I do a very good job of it. Her boyfriend? Have I been interpreting everything wrong all this time? No. She kissed me. I know I didn’t imagine it this time, and despite my paranoia I’m pretty sure she meant it. I don’t have time to dissect this any further before she drops an even bigger bomb. “That was the real warning, just a few days before the reaping for the 72nd Games. Snow asked me again after the opening ceremonies, informed me that there was a great deal of interest in my company throughout the festivities. I all but told him to go fuck himself. And then my family’s home mysteriously burned down on my 18th birthday.”

A surge of shock and anger bombards my mind, forcing my face into a grimace as I battle the sudden nausea and lightheadedness. I can’t think clearly enough to form a response, but I don’t have to because Johanna mutters, “Yeah, I know.” I catch her eye again to find that the hint of amusement in her voice is not reflected in her face. She twitches a corner of her mouth and drops her gaze to the pillow. “It got all of them. The two oldest had moved out already but ‘just so happened’ to be there at the time.” She lets out a particularly shaky breath and I brace myself. “My tributes were already dead, but they wouldn’t let me leave. I had to wait until the Games were over before I could go back and mourn.” She raises her eyes again and meets mine in a vacant stare. “There wasn’t much of a funeral. People were afraid to show up. They knew I was cursed.”

“Don’t say that,” I interject impulsively. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Save it!” she snaps. One look at my wide eyes and her scowl melts. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she backpedals, “I’ve just heard it all before. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘You poor thing.’ ‘You can’t blame yourself.’ Fuck that. I’ll blame myself if I goddamn want to. God knows you do, Everdeen, so you can’t tell me not to do the same.” She finally takes a breath, her eyes holding mine only briefly before flicking away in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” I respond hesitantly. She shoots me another dangerous look and I quickly clarify, “For interrupting, I mean.” Johanna doesn’t need my sympathy. She just needs me to listen. And I’m more than happy to oblige, even if her stories aren’t pleasant. Any knowledge I can glean about the enigmatic Johanna Mason is a treasure, especially when she’s the one trusting me with it. I risk running a finger down her arm, and when she doesn’t bite my hand off I nod for her to continue.

She sighs heavily and cracks her neck, then takes a few more moments to collect herself before speaking again. “I thought he was done once he got my family. But then he killed my ex,” she hazards, studying my face, “even though I kind of hated her at the time.” Oh. I feel my eyes widen against my will and curse myself for it. I nod dumbly, not trusting my own voice. Jo hesitates momentarily before explaining, “High school sweethearts. Started dating when we were fifteen.” She looks down and furrows her brow, gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “She was worried sick when I got pre-reaped, so she made the trip down to the main town with my mom, just in case. She completely broke down when they pulled my name, came to visit me before I left and begged me to come back to her.” Johanna looks me dead in the eye, clenching her jaw. “So I did. I did what I had to. But when I got back, she couldn’t see me the same way, not after the things I did.” An ironic chuckle bursts from her lips. “I guess she couldn’t handle the real me.”

I think I can feel my heart breaking inside my chest. As impactful as the comment regarding Glimmer was, it’s now clearer than ever why my assumptions based on her Games hurt Johanna so much. Yes, it was my first impression of her, but I was her ally if not her friend and yet I didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt once I knew her in person. My overwhelming shame won’t permit me to hold eye contact any longer. I unwittingly attacked her deepest scars, the type that can only be inflicted by someone you’ve dropped all defenses against. A tutelary anger begins building in my chest, choking out my guilt and bringing my eyes back to the girl. What if Gale had viewed me as cold-blooded and held me at a distance after my Games, after all the things he’d said when we parted? To be judged so harshly by someone who knew her, someone she trusted, a lover no less, it’s the deepest betrayal. That is abundantly clear in those large, dark eyes brimming with emotion. Even years later, the wound is still raw.

“You still loved her,” I surmise. “That’s why he killed her.”

Johanna’s jaw tightens and she nods, barely. “Love and hate are just opposite sides of the same coin.” Her eyes bore into mine intently, with no less feeling than before. “Passion.” This smacks of what Haymitch said to me the other day, though he was talking about Peeta. I think. Haymitch is such a slimy bastard that I never know what he’s really trying to tell me. But now with Johanna saying something similar, I’m even more confident that her hating me, as it were, isn’t a bad thing. There’s feeling there.

“So you did,” I conclude.

“I did,” she agrees. “More than the boyfriend, anyway.” She squints and bites her lip, considering my curious face. “I don’t get as… attached, to guys.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling at this, but cover it with the crack, “So I don’t have to worry about you going after Gale?” We both laugh.

“Please, like you want to be with Gale,” scoffs Johanna. She’s right. I don’t. I can’t tell from her face and tone if she’s insinuating anything about me in general, though if she were, I’m starting to wonder if she might be right. I’m not sure I share her attraction to males. But ultimately I don’t really care, because I hope that never matters. I only want to be with Johanna. I’m in love with Johanna. I believe that thought first crossed my mind this evening, and I can’t argue its truthfulness. Not long ago, I would have found this realization completely disconcerting. Not just that it’s her, but that it happened at all, that I am capable of such emotions. But now it’s merely an interesting observation, and hardly a shocking one. It’s just another accepted fact of life. The sky is blue. President Snow is evil. I’m in love with Johanna Mason.

Studying her face closely as the mask of levity slowly gives way to the sorrow underneath, I roll onto my back and extend an arm like she did before. “Come here,” I command. She hesitates and I smirk teasingly. “Come on, I don’t bite.”

Johanna grins despite herself and banters, “My shoulder begs to differ.” 

“Right,” I titter, my face heating up immediately. I clear my throat and bluster, “Whatever, just get your ass over here. I’m not asking.” My eyes slide shut in contentment when Johanna closes the small distance between us and finally relaxes into my embrace willingly for the first time in far too long. I release a long breath, relishing the feeling of her weight, of her head on my chest, of her hand twisting a kink into my shirt.

“Sorry,” she sighs before long, curling her leg up over my knees. “I should be the one comforting you. You’re the one who had the nightmare.”

I shake my head and tighten my grip on her before she can change her mind. “I can appreciate the distraction,” I assure her, ghosting my fingers along the exposed skin of her arm. “And I’ve missed this.” Her mumbled response is partially muffled in my chest, but I still hear her.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this has been posted in instalments and it's probably been months since most readers have looked at chapter 2, it's worth noting that Johanna saying "No, you're not" is a reference to the first scene of that chapter. The reference is out of context but the conversation it's from is still on Katniss's mind, and that is worth remembering for upcoming chapters.
> 
> Thanks as usual to District_7_Profanity for the beta read. She just finished This Year's Girl (the BtVS-inspired body switch fic) tonight and you should totally go read that as well.


	9. Respect

It’s the twitching of my mouth and nose that pulls me back to some level of consciousness the next morning. A couple of grunts pulse out of my throat and the tickling feeling that prompted these reactions suddenly stops. Or slows, anyway. My eyes blink open to see Johanna staring me down from a foot away, though it takes me a befuddled moment to realize that she is grazing her thumb over my cheek, her fingertips hooked around the angle of my mandible.

“Morning, brainless,” she whispers through a smile.

“Morning,” I croak in reply and then turn onto my back, raising my arms high above my head and pushing my heels as far into the cocoon as I can to stretch out my calves. I release a boisterous yawn and squirm around to crack my back before flipping onto my side to face Johanna again. She’s grinning in what I’d reckon is a mix of affection and amusement, but I shyly keep my eyes on her despite my sheepishness because I just can’t drag them away from her radiant face. I can’t see it too well because the lights haven’t turned up yet, and I find myself wishing I was waking up next to her somewhere above ground and far away from District 13 and wars and nightmares, gazing at this vision in a beam of soft dawn sunlight seeping in past the draperies. God, when did I become such a sap?

“No more nightmares?” I blink myself out of my reverie at the sound of Johanna’s voice, shake my head and lift my hand to my cheek to interlock our fingers.

“No.” I draw her hand to my mouth and begin dusting kisses over her knuckles. I eventually raise my eyes from our joined hands to her face and am bowled over by the stark desire I see burning in her eyes. It’s something I recognize readily now. My stomach suddenly thrums in nervousness, a good kind of nervousness. Anticipation. My mouth has gone dry but my tongue automatically tries to wet my lips anyway. Jo’s eyes follow the movement and stay on my lips for a few seconds too long to be a casual glance, and when she does look up again I strain to send her my thoughts via my eyes because I find myself paralyzed yet again. It’s more of a plea than thought at this point, actually. Mercifully, her face starts drawing incrementally closer. She’s mere inches away and I still have not moved a muscle when she stops and raises her eyebrows, silently seeking permission. Permission? I must be dreaming. I finally break free and surge forward to connect our lips.

It may have more to do with my haziness than anything else, but I feel like I’m floating on air, hardly able to process the moment as her tongue slowly works its way into my mouth. But when it finally reaches mine, that contact and the fledgling fire between my thighs snap me into a heightened physical awareness. I don’t know where my inhibitions have gone, but I push against Johanna’s shoulder and let my weight fall forward so she lands on her back and I partially on top of her. She looks every bit as surprised and turned on as I am, breathing irregularly through an open mouth, her heart battering against her ribcage hard enough for me to feel it in my chest alongside my own pounding pulse. The way she subconsciously licks her lips tells me she wants more kisses, but I have other ideas of what I’d like to be doing with my mouth. I burrow my face into her neck and inhale her distinct scent, run my tongue along her hot, salty skin and her pulse racing just under it.

“Oh, Johanna,” I rasp, “the things I wanna do to you.”

She gasps mere inches from my ear, sending a thrill to my groin. “Like what?” she whispers.

I groan through closed lips and slide my hand up to tangle in her hair and pull it firmly, tipping her head to the side and exposing more of her neck. I take one more cursory lick before I sink my teeth into the flesh, drawing a jerk and a breathless curse from Johanna, then slowly release before replacing them with my lips and sucking. A smile threatens to break my seal over her skin when I feel her body trembling beneath me. I give another small tug on her mane as I run my fingers through it and tuck it behind her ear before returning my hand to…

Wait. Johanna’s all but bald. In reality. Fuck, I actually am dreaming. I should have known this was too good to be true. I stew over this silently for all of two seconds until I become aware of Johanna’s hand grabbing my ass and pulling my pelvis down onto her hipbone. I’m no optimist, but even I can see the bright side here. I can do what I want with no apprehension or consequences.

I roll forward so I’m fully straddling Johanna and waste no time slipping both hands under the hem of her shirt and sliding them upward until I am finally cupping the soft curves of her breasts like I’ve wanted to ever since she dropped her dress in the elevator. Granted, I didn’t really understand what I wanted at the time, only that I was magnetized and I hated it. Her shirt got dragged up in the endeavor, so I drop my face to her exposed stomach and begin pressing open-mouthed kisses along the taut skin. Her muscles flex under my touch, and I’ve just noticed a growing tremor in them when she suddenly flips us and pins me flat against the mattress. I’m too turned on to fight back and I kind of don’t want to. I don’t know what to expect Johanna to do next, but she still manages to surprise me when she lowers herself so she is lying fully on top of me and somewhat relaxes. I move my hands from where they are trapped between our chests and lay them on the small of her back, drawing her into me even tighter. Thanks to gravity we are pressed closer together than ever before, and the feeling is intoxicating.

Jo tucks her chin to kiss along my collarbone and I automatically tip my head away from her. She’s just started to move her lips up my neck when she lifts her hips, and I’m about to yank her back down and lock my legs around her thighs when she starts rubbing lightly between my legs. I let out a sound somewhere between a frustrated whimper and a sigh of relief as a shudder shoots through my whole body. I hadn’t even noticed her move one of her hands down there but I have never had a more pleasant surprise. Even through the thin underwear it feels downright heavenly, and I can only take a few moments of this before I begin rocking my hips slightly to aid the movement.

“Fuck, Johanna…” I whisper, unable to think in words well enough to come up with anything better to say. She grunts in reply and moves her left hand to cup my cheek as she continues kissing her way up my neck. “I love you,” I whisper mindlessly, and my eyes widen in dread the instant the words reach my ears. Oh, of course if I managed to form words beside curses and her name, it had to be that. I almost wish I had a nightlock pill to save me the impending embarrassment until I remember that I’m dreaming. And thankfully Johanna doesn’t reply even in the dream, just continues the movements of her hand and lips until the heat and pressure between my legs is intolerable. I want to beg her to remove the barrier between her skin and mine, but I seem to have gone mute again. I communicate my need physically instead by intensifying my pelvic thrusts, grinding up into her hand. My own grunts fill the air and mix with Johanna’s and my legs begin to quiver involuntarily. The pressure of the mattress against my knees suppresses this a little bit but… wait, what?

I open my bleary eyes in a struggle to reorient myself to my position and surroundings. I’m lying not on my back, but in one of the positions I was previously: partially on top of Johanna and straddling her thigh. I still my hips and lift my head a bit to get a better look my bedmate, who I can now see is passed out underneath me and definitely has her hands nowhere near where they just were. She’s asleep, but I’m awake now. I’m awake, and I was humping her leg. Like a dog in heat. How classy.

Johanna suddenly snuffles in a large breath through her nose and shifts in her sleep, flexing at the hip and thereby driving her knee more firmly into my crotch. I practically swoon in pleasure and unconsciously squeeze my thighs together to further increase the pressure. The breathy moan I release is what alerts me to my latest move, but despite my widened eyes and the vague alarm bells going off somewhere in my brain, I can’t seem to make my legs release. In fact, my hips start rocking again like they have a mind of their own. Or like what’s between them has a mind of its own, to be more accurate. The movement is miniscule, much smaller than what I caught myself doing as I woke up, but it’s still there and I have no excuse this time. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I know that this is not an okay thing to be doing to a sleeping person and that I need to stop. It’s fucked up. It’s disrespectful. It’s downright wrong. Unfortunately, my brain is not the organ my body is listening to at the moment.

Johanna stirs again, and the prospect of being caught is what smacks my brain back into focus and gets me to release. I wriggle theatrically on top of her in hopes of disguising what I was just doing in case she’s waking up, and it seems she is from the way her arms are encircling me. I attempt to relax down onto her chest, but it’s pretty difficult given my face is burning in shame and embarrassment and I’m quite literally shaking with desire.

“Just what do you think you’re doing on top of me, Everdeen?” she suddenly rumbles from beneath me. Oh shit. I wrack my brain for some kind of halfway decent excuse or explanation to keep me from getting my ass kicked, but then I guess I run out of time because she rolls us over and has me under her and at her mercy in seconds. “Not this time, girl on fire!” she shouts in a surprisingly playful tone. I peek past the arms I’d raised to protect my face and see a broad grin stretched across Johanna’s. Oh, we’re wrestling. She’s not beating me up. Not that it would be undeserved.

I flip as quickly as I can and buck my rear up to throw the smaller girl’s weight in the air. She regains control pretty fast, but not before I get my knees under me. I grin to myself and banter, “You’re going down, Mason!” I really shouldn’t have spoken so soon, because she immediately hooks a leg around my left thigh and pulls my knee out from under me, then uses all of her weight to force me down and to my left and pin my hips to the mattress.

“Cocky asshole,” she mutters. In a whirlwind of moves that I barely have time to account for let alone fight back against, Johanna reaches under my neck to grab just above my left elbow with her right hand, hooks her other arm under my left leg, and curls me up until she can grab her right wrist, effectively pinning my knee to my chest. It takes her all of ten seconds, if that, and once she has me locked up like that I know it’s over already. Not that I won’t struggle until the end. I do have my pride.

Johanna rolls her weight toward the wall and comes to rest on her right side, flipping me onto my back. She wedges her right knee between my stomach and thigh to pin down my left hip, but I hardly notice that because she’s also pressing her forehead down onto mine. Maybe it’s more into my temple, but still, our mouths are inches apart and the girl is grunting with effort to control me and pin my shoulders to the mattress. Only my highly competitive spirit keeps me from completely enjoying our intimate positioning and the fact that we’re sharing breaths. This is far more erotic than Johanna taking all her clothes off ever was. I’m pretty sure she holds me down much longer than is required to win a match, or maybe it just feels that way, but then she finally releases me. She pushes herself up so her head and shoulders are braced against the slant of the wall, her forearms resting on her knees, panting through a huge grin.

“Good job, Everdeen,” she ribs me. “You put up a great fight.” I glare up at her and she smirks in response. “We should do it again sometime.”

I try to ignore the obvious reference and her sexual tone and pointedly ask, “Make it a best of three?” Johanna scoffs dismissively and I know full well she’s not going easy on me next time either. She’s too competitive. It’s one of the things I love and hate most about her. I blink away and grumble, “I knew you let me beat you before.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” she demands. “Just because I won this time doesn’t mean I always will. Maybe we’re evenly matched.” I have a feeling she’s not just talking about wrestling. The trace of a smirk lingering on her lips suggests so too.

I turn onto my side to face her. “If you’re such a good wrestler, why did you need a lesson when we were training?”

“Why were you shooting arrows?” she retorts, lifting a foot to nudge my hip. Touché. “Never a bad time to brush up on your skills. Or show off.”

I snort and suggestively wiggle my eyebrows. “Show off what, exactly?” Johanna winks cheekily and I press on, a grin slowly growing on my face. “It’s never a bad time to strip down for attractive girls either, huh?”

Johanna bites her lip but can’t totally hide her smile or surprise at my forwardness. “Yeah,” she muses airily, “I guess Cash was nearby, wasn’t she?”

I laugh and punch her in the knee. “Then who was the attractive girl in the elevator?” I challenge her pretentiously.

“Peeta, obviously,” she chirps. I should find this offensive for his sake if not mine, but I snort a couple of times before a husky laugh bursts out of my lips. Johanna joins in with a low chuckle and we don’t stop until the lights turn up a few moments later, forcing us both to wince and shield our eyes.

I peek at Jo through a crack in my fingers and shake my head in mock disappointment. “And you call me an asshole.”

***

“Keep moving, Everdeen,” Johanna’s voice crackles into my earpiece. “We can’t hold up the other group.” I glance at the cracked door once more and begrudgingly leave it behind despite my natural impulses to intervene. I hurry for a few steps along the sidewalk outside the line of row houses to catch up to the three soldiers I’m travelling with. Just our luck, when our squad got split up to approach our target from two directions, Johanna and I got stuck with Kearns and whatever her name is. Foligno, I think? At least this mission’s during the daytime and I don’t have to worry about her running into me in the dark again. Her boyfriend is bad enough but I don’t know how she got into the class because she’s a useless idiot, so far as I can tell.

Our ultimate objective of this mission is to capture one of the few four-story buildings in the Block. The elevation and central location is a dream for a sniper like me, and conversely attacking it should be a nightmare. Our plan is to get to the roof and sweep our way down the floors using grenades to help clear our path. This is a prime mission for Johanna because she excels in close combat, and since it’s not my strongest suit I’ve been deferring to her so far. She needs to turn heads too and I don’t want to screw it up for her.

I’ve barely rejoined the group when the crying that caught my attention before suddenly grows louder. I stop involuntarily and look over my shoulder. Boobs is behind me yet again – surprise, surprise – and she widens her eyes at me and shakes her head. “Don’t,” she mouths. But I can’t ignore it. That’s not who I am. I turn and run back to the source of the sound.

“Everdeen, get back here!” Johanna hisses via the radio, but I ignore her. I lean on the door to crack it open a little farther, enough to see the back of a shaking young boy. I suck in a breath to steel my nerves and then burst though the door, spinning to check behind it before nudging it shut with my foot and approaching the kid. He’s turned to face me now and I can see that he’s clutching his forearm and there are streaks of blood running down to his fingertips. He’s really young, probably not even five. Even when I lower myself to one knee a few feet away from him, he’s still shorter than me. His eyes dart from my face to my gun and I quickly raise a hand in a diplomatic gesture.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” I slowly reach over my shoulder to holster my rifle and then outstretch both arms toward him. “Here, let me see,” I say, pointing at his wound. He looks up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes and quivering lips but neither moves closer nor flees. As much as we’re supposed to behave like this is real life, I can’t help but take a mental timeout from the scenario. I know they wouldn’t put this fake-injured kid in the Block for no reason. He is some kind of test. Even if he’s Capitol, it’s probably meant to be casualty retrieval. I glance behind me and see Johanna glaring at me through the crack of open door. I hold up one finger and use my eyes to beg for her patience.

Just as I’m considering my next words to gain the boy’s trust and convince him to follow me out into the street, he takes off farther into the house. “Hey, wait!” I shout as I pursue him. It never even crosses my mind not to follow him, but I realize that it should have when I round a corner and find myself face-to-face with four Peacekeepers. “Oh,” is all I say despite the sudden lurch in my heart and gut, not that I have time to say much more before the sound of gunfire dominates the air.

“You are dead,” a robotic voice echoes through my earpiece. It’s not our commander’s voice – it’s actually more robotic and infinitely creepier. I shiver at the sound but collapse onto the carpet and hope that Johanna’s propensity for logic prevailed and she did not come running after me. No such luck. When I hear footsteps behind me followed by more gunfire and a body landing nearby, I know it’s her. The other two are stupid in general but they’re not stupid for me.

“Good work, kid,” one of the Peacekeepers says. I open my eyes and from my position I can just see her picking up the boy and tickling him, drawing out a laugh and plenty of kicks. “Let’s go,” she directs to the group, and they all exit via the back door of the house. Shit. I’m never going to shed Johanna’s favorite nickname for me after this colossal fuck up. The lovebirds are screwed without Johanna and me, and the other group is screwed if ours doesn’t show. I let out a massive sigh and rub my forehead. Dead soldiers aren’t supposed to move or talk, but Johanna’s the only one here to witness it. She says nothing.

Maybe I’m a horrible person for thinking it, but it crosses my mind that now would be the perfect time for Johanna and I to reprise our adventure from our last session in the Block. She’s already lying on the ground beside me. But I don’t have the guts to make a move on her when she’s pissed at me, even though I admittedly find her especially sexy when she’s angry. I can feel her fuming from a foot away, can sense the tone of her muscles and hear the rattling in her chest as she struggles to breathe calmly. It’s putting me on edge, and not just in a sexual way. I wish she would just yell at me and get it over with. The waiting for punishment is the worst part of being in trouble.

“Johanna,” I mumble, not really sure what to say but needing to say something.

“Shut up, Everdeen!” she hisses. “You’re dead.”

***

I drag my feet on my way home for Reflection even though I suspect Johanna won’t be there to confront me. She barely talked to me during our remaining Block scenarios, and when she did it was purely military and highly impersonal. We were scheduled for the shooting range afterward but she blew it off and I have no idea where she went instead. Maybe to go make out with Finnick to spite me. Or even worse, Gale. I shake that paranoid thought out of my head as I approach our compartment. I’d go next door to hang out with Prim and get my mind off of it, but I’m exhausted both physically and emotionally and just want to lie down for a while.

I startle when I slide the door open to reveal Johanna sitting cross-legged on her bed, poring over one of those practice exams Gale and I were using last night. She doesn’t acknowledge me at first, but after several seconds of me standing there mutely, she finally takes pity on me and speaks.

“Close the door,” she orders me coldly. Okay, pity might not be the best word. I’m also not sure if she means she wants me to go away or to sequester us so she can attack me in private. I prefer the first possibility and therefore start to step backward, but then she clarifies, “Behind you, brainless.”

I push out a steadying breath and do as I’m told, pulling up my indifferent mask and hoping I can at least appear brave and composed as I face her. Deciding to take the initiative, I approach her directly and blurt, “Look, I’m sorry I got you killed, okay?” So much for appearing composed. 

Johanna chuckles darkly and finally looks up. “Brainless, do you really think that’s why I’m upset?” she condescends, turning and hanging her legs over the edge so she’s facing me. I purse my lips but let her continue, “You think I’m mad that I died in some stupid simulation? I don’t even care if I die in real life, dumbass. You know that.” She’s already insulted me three times in about twenty seconds, so I can’t shake the feeling she’s looking for a fight. But I don’t really want one, so I swallow down my anger and shove my hands into my hip pockets to unfurl my fists.

“So you’re mad I didn’t listen to you, then?” I ask with as much poise as I can muster.

“That’s part of it,” she affirms. “Not listening, deserting your squad and its orders, acting on a whim with disregard for the big picture.” She snorts and her mouth puckers into something between a smirk and a snarl. “But I guess that’s just another day in the life of Katniss Everdeen.”

“What, then?” I snap. “Would you rather I be a dumbass robot like Twiggy’s girlfriend?”

“Foligno is a good soldier,” Johanna immediately counters, shocking me into silence. She must be joking, but her expression and tone are sincere when she elaborates, “She seems unexceptional to you because she blends in and doesn’t take initiative, but that’s what a soldier is supposed to do.” Johanna narrows her eyes and jams a couple of fingers under my collarbone. “You, you’re a bad soldier. You’re arrogant and you can’t follow orders worth shit.” She drives her fingers deeper into my flesh at that last word, but that’s not what hurts so. I’m no stranger to Johanna’s insults and critical jabs, but this may be her most harsh and forthright reprimand yet. I never take criticism well, but hearing this one from her is unbearable.

“ _I’m_ arrogant?” I squawk through the sudden buzzing in my brain and prickling pain behind my eyes. “You’re the arrogant one!” A few tears escape, but I swipe the moisture off my burning cheeks and lament with a cracking voice, “Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Johanna!” My outburst does nothing to affect the woman’s calloused expression.

“Your many inadequacies are not my problem,” she responds icily.

My body reacts before my brain does and I reach up and slap her fiercely. Though I’m sure the sting in my palm is echoed in her face, the width of her mouth and eyes convey surprise more than pain. “You are fucking infuriating!” I seethe.

Johanna laughs wryly and gingerly fingers her reddened cheek. “That makes two of us,” she shoots back, though the lust accompanying the anger in her eyes is as plain as it was in my dream. Why does she get so turned on whenever I get physical with her when I’m angry? More problematically, why do I get so turned on? It’s at least partially in response to her reaction, but it’s still uncomfortable to think about. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to escape the suffocating emotional intensity in the room, and I turn to head for the door. Johanna drops to the floor, captures my arm and spins me around before I can even take two steps. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” she barks.

“I don’t follow orders, remember?” I retort with as much attitude as I can muster.

“Now would be a good time to start,” she advises me bluntly. I continue to glare defiantly despite her withering gaze. For how much we yell, it is surprisingly terrifying when Johanna lowers her voice to barely above a whisper. “Sit down,” she enunciates.

I back away until my butt hits my bed and then hoist myself up with fumbling hands. “Since when do you even care about following orders, Johanna?” I remark to break the hostile silence. “You’re a rebel too.”

“That’s not really the issue,” she admits. “It wouldn’t bother me so much if it hadn’t gotten you killed. But even if that didn’t matter to me, your actions compromised the mission and endangered those around you. Like me. Do you want to get me killed in real life?”

Johanna, once again, has found a way to get to me. Because she knows what makes me tick. Her. And somehow she knows that I care more about preserving her life than she does. But right now does not feel like a safe time to go admitting that, so I play indifferent and snark, “Right now, sure.”

Johanna snorts and looks down at her shoes, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I asked for that one,” she mumbles. Most of the aggression has left her face by the time she lets me see it again. She joins me on the bed and catches my eye earnestly. “Look, Katniss, I know you’re driven by your impulses to do good,” she says. “You always do what you think is right, and I admire that about you. I do.”

“But?” I venture.

“But you don’t always know what’s right or what’s the best course of action. When you make impulsive decisions, there’s no way for you to have all the information you need to make the right one. So you need to be willing to listen to other people, people who might know better.”

“What, like you?” I scoff.

“Maybe,” she replies. “I wouldn’t have followed that kid into the house without backup and I definitely wouldn’t have holstered my gun. You could have at least radioed it in and asked for instructions.”

“What if they’d told me to rescue him and I’d died anyway?” I challenge her.

Johanna rolls her eyes and mutters, “At least if you died following orders, I could blame someone other than myself.” Her eyes abruptly snap back to mine, their wideness betraying her own surprise at her words. Mine consequently narrow as I lean toward her.

“You don’t have to protect me, Johanna,” I insist. “This isn’t the arena.”

Johanna scoffs and shakes her head. “You’re so fucking brainless,” she fumes. “You don’t get it at all, do you?” My only reply is a blank stare, so she continues, “I risked my life to save yours when the Careers cut that wire, you know. Pretending you were dead and leading them away from you.” Her tone suddenly turns cold. “You, and the tree, and the impending rescue.” My stomach drops. I always knew Johanna got captured because she was farther from the tree, but it’s never occurred to me before that she was knowingly running away from her own rescue. Knowingly running into the Capitol’s grasp, and everything that came with it. I don’t try to mask the horror contorting my face. A twisted smirk overcomes Johanna’s angry expression and she nods as she sees this dawning on me.

“I knew you were in Thirteen,” she declares bitterly. “I’d refused to cooperate with the plot unless I knew they had somewhere safe to hide the Mockingjay after the Quell. Otherwise, what was the point?” She cackles dementedly. “I clung to that secret through weeks of torture before Coin and Plutarch suddenly decided it was okay to reveal your hiding place. Maybe Thirteen was more prepared to protect you by that point or something, I don’t know, but I hate them for that. It made my suffering worth nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t worth nothing,” I object. “Who knows what could have happened to me if they’d bombed us earlier, before Peeta had a chance to warn us?”

“Fuck Peeta!” she suddenly spits with disdain. My brow furrows. What about their unspoken alliance?

“But I thought you two-”

“No, fuck him!” she cuts in. “Of course Peeta gets all the glory. He’s the important one, the one who got on television and actually had a fucking chance to warn you.” She laughs bitterly. “He didn’t even know anything about the plot, and they knew it, so they barely bothered to try torturing him for information. And he’s the fucking hero.”

“Peeta _is_ a hero,” I snap in his defense. I purposely soften my expression before reaching up to cup Jo’s cheek and adding, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not.”

She shakes her head glumly. “Nobody cares about what I did,” she mumbles.

I release a wistful sigh and stroke her cheekbone with my thumb. I wait until she looks me in the eye again before I speak, softly and sincerely. “I do.”

“No,” she immediately counters, dropping her eyes. “You don’t give a damn.”

My stomach constricts painfully and my brain goes numb again at this shot. Being called a bad soldier was a very mild insult in comparison. Over the course of a few seconds, I can feel my shock give way to the rage bubbling up in my chest. I adjust my grip on Johanna’s jaw so I am grabbing her chin from underneath and then yank on it to bring her face directly in line with mine.

“How dare you!” I snarl. When she still refuses to make eye contact I tighten my grip and growl, “Look at me.” My eyes burn into hers when she finally obeys. “I snuck you my morphling. I got you out of the hospital. I listened to your stories even though it killed me to hear about what happened to you in the Capitol. How fucking dare you tell me I don’t care about you or what you went through!”

“How can I think otherwise when you seem intent on destroying the one thing I was fighting for, the thing I went through all of that to protect?” Johanna demands, knocking my hand away. She rolls her eyes at my obvious bewilderment and huffs, “Your life, brainless. Do I need to spell it out for you? I would have done _anything_ to keep you safe, and you thank me by running out into the line of fire to try and protect a few injured people who will probably die anyway.” She raises a hand to snap her fingers in front of my face. “Wake up, Katniss, stop being such a fucking martyr! Like it or not, you are more important than those people. We are fighting a greater battle here, and we need you alive to do that.” Johanna pauses momentarily before releasing a jaded sigh. The disappointment is palpable in her tone when she says, “Respect the goddamn sacrifices people have made for your life, by not throwing it away.”

Despite my swimming head, I sit stock still in this moment of sudden clarity. That’s why Johanna gets so angry when I put myself in danger for reasons she doesn’t think are good enough, why she jabbed me at the wedding, why she was upset that I risked my life to save hers in the Block. I’ve always known that I owed her my life, but what I never understood before now is that, in her eyes, the only way to honor this debt is to not repay it. I don’t owe it to her to save her life. I owe it to her to live.

It’s on pure impulse that I grab the collar of her shirt and pull her in for a kiss. If there was conscious thought involved, I probably would have hesitated for fear of rejection again. I slide both hands up Johanna’s neck to cradle her face as I attack her lips ferociously, and thankfully she has started kissing me back by the time they get there. She makes up for her delayed reaction by matching my intensity, bruising my lips with her teeth and digging her fingernails into my lower back to help pull herself closer. We both struggle for air as the frenzied kiss drags on, gasping into each other’s mouths and fighting the physiological urge to break apart and breathe.

It is Johanna who gives in first, tearing away and sucking in a deep breath before relaxing and bringing her forehead to rest on my shoulder. She loops her arms around my neck and pants into my chest for a moment while I move my hands to her back and tilt my chin up to inhale the precious air. I lower my face again when I feel hers tip upward. There’s desire in her narrowed eyes but also something more akin to confusion or uncertainty. She falters once before finally speaking.

“What was that for?” she asks, her voice lowered to a sultry rasp by her breathlessness. That’s a fair question. Of course I am familiar with my habit of kissing people to alleviate their pain, the one Gale so kindly pointed out to me. But there is so much more to this than pity. Passion. Hunger. Gratitude.

“Thank you,” I breathe. “What you did means the world to me.” I brush a thumb over her lips. “I mean that.”

Her gaze dips down to my lips before returning to my eyes. “The kiss or the thank-you?” she asks hesitantly.

“Both,” I reply bluntly. Johanna swallows and her mouth wavers, but she keeps up her intense stare. It must only be seconds but it seems like longer before she moves one hand from the base of my neck to my jaw and flicks her eyes down to my lips again. When they come back up, the question in them is clear. Despite what we were doing only moments ago, my breathing intensifies again and there’s a small tremor in my hands as I start to lean in. For all the times we’ve kissed, this is the first time we’ve had an obvious lead-up and a mutual chance to back out. I see my own nerves mirrored back at me in Johanna’s expression, but also a stark vulnerability and a certain adoration that can’t be fabricated. She’s not going to pull away either, and the relief of this realization allows me to close the gap a little faster. She follows suit, and when our lips finally connect in a soft kiss, it kind of feels like it’s our first.

Our movements are slow and conscious, almost reverent. Johanna’s hands travel up to tangle in my hair while mine roam over her back and down her sides. It’s not long before I’m completely lost in our kiss. If my head was swimming before, it’s drowning now. I can’t think, only feel, and it is pure bliss. The warmth in my core spreads faster than I’m used to and I start losing control of my body, or at least my mouth. My steady breaths turn to gasps and grunts again as my tongue wrests control from Johanna and my lips turn aggressive. I’m dragging her lip between my teeth and exploring the firm softness of her stomach with my thumbs when Johanna lets out a sound vaguely resembling a moan and suddenly shoves me hard enough to send my back crashing into the mattress.

My mind ceases all conscious functioning when Johanna plants her palms abreast my shoulders and leans forward to hover over me. I stare into her darkened eyes and swallow in anticipation of her weight and her warmth, of the fit of our bodies I’ve yet to feel in real life. Just how desperately I crave it, crave her, overwhelms all my senses and desires. I start to quiver under her continued hard gaze, my breathing irregular and shallow, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. She still says nothing, just grasps my wrists and pins them above my head. My hips roll of their own accord and I groan out her name before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. I now understand what people mean when they say they think they’re about to have a heart attack.

“Don’t,” she growls abruptly. “Don’t thank me, not if you don’t mean it. If you’re really grateful, then smarten the fuck up, and for the love of god stop trying to get yourself killed.” She drops her head to plant one last aggressive closed-mouth kiss on my lips and then pushes off the bed and storms for the door, not looking back once.

Even once I hear the forceful opening and closing of the door on its tracks, ending with a violent slam into the wall, it takes me a moment to even think, let alone move. I’m not entirely sure what just happened or where it left us. Is Johanna really that emotionally volatile, or did she just intentionally leave me high and… not dry because she’s pissed? I wouldn’t put either past her. But despite the confusion in my brain, I’m still preoccupied by the sensations in my body. One area in particular. Between my dream and our encounters this morning and now this, it’s too much, and I slide my hand into my pants to tend to the burning region between my legs. I’m aching with need for Johanna to touch me, but she’s gone. At least this is something halfway satisfying.

I’m almost embarrassed by how little it took to get me so wet and wound up. How Johanna has such an effect on me is beyond me, but I can appreciate the fact that I won’t need much patience, the lack of which is often my downfall when I attempt this. No need to bother with soft touches or trying to imagine something halfway stimulating, I’ve barely even started giving my swollen clit the hard and fast treatment and I can already feel the crescendo starting to build. My breathing quickens and I dig the nails of my left hand into the sweaty skin at the juncture of my hip and thigh, the ecstasy fogging up my brain.

My legs have just begun to tremble from the pleasure spreading its way out of my groin and through my whole body when the sound of a door sliding open jolts me back to reality and halts my movements. When I hear it closing I breathe a sigh of relief. That’s from next door, not my compartment. This would be a pretty awkward sight for Johanna to walk in to, though maybe it would entice her to take over. I grin to myself and slowly resume my arm and hand movements. Maybe I’ll resort to that tactic if Johanna tries to walk out on me again. A knock suddenly sounds at my door and I freeze.

“Katniss?” my mother calls through the door. I stay completely still and barely even dare to breathe. “Katniss, open up.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I whisper breathlessly. 

“Katniss, I know you’re in there.” If I ignore her long enough, she’ll go away, right? Wrong. I hear a door sliding again, and it’s definitely mine this time. I scramble to wipe my hand on my inner thigh and sit up before Mom comes around the corner. I’m eternally grateful that Johanna took the bed that’s visible from the door. When the blonde woman comes into view and shoots me an unimpressed look, I’m hugging my knees to my chest and leveling a truly hostile expression right back at her. Could anyone blame me?

“Yes?” I demand icily.

Sadly, she doesn’t seem to get the message. Or, more likely, she just blatantly ignores it. She approaches my bed and pats the foot of the mattress. “May I sit with you?” she asks.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Well seeing as you already invited yourself in, you might as well,” I grumble.

Mom purses her lips and narrows her eyes dangerously. “I’d appreciate it if you’d lose the attitude,” she scolds me blandly as she lifts herself onto the bed. “I’m on your side.” She shuffles over so she is sitting halfway up the bed with her back to the wall, about a foot away from me. Since she’s obviously not going to leave, I decide to bite.

“My side of what?” I sigh, adjusting my posture so I’m cross-legged.

“You tell me.” When I just stare blankly at her questioning face, she elaborates, “I know our mother-daughter relationship is highly atypical and has been for years, and I don’t doubt your overall maturity for your age. But you’re still a teenager and there are some areas where you have less experience and, as your mother, I have cause for concern and think you may still need some guidance.” I stay silent and wait for her to get to the point of this lovely speech. And then hopefully leave. “Love and relationships is one of them.” My gut starts squirming. If Johanna was right and Mom does think there’s something going on between us, we’re about to have the most awkward conversation ever. I decide to play dumb and hope Jo was mistaken.

“Oh, I know how you feel about that,” I laugh evasively. “I remember when I got back from my first Games and you told the whole country I wasn’t old enough to have a boyfriend.”

“That was over a year ago,” she points out. I detect the smile wavering onto her lips just as she adds far too casually, “Besides, I didn’t say I thought you were too young for a girlfriend.”

I would gladly melt into the mattress right now if I could. I bury my face in my palms and groan, “Oh my god, can we please not talk about this?”

“So there is something to talk about?” is her immediate response, and I sigh and curse into my hands. And then, of course, she knowingly prods, “What was that, dear?”

“I said, ‘Just my luck,’” I improvise despite the fact that I’m fooling no one. “For having such a meddlesome mother.” Her raised eyebrow informs me that I’m pushing it, so I back off and just tell her, “We’re not together.” Her expression doesn’t change and I admit, “Not exactly.”

“But you want to be,” she infers. “The way you look at her… you were practically drooling into your eggs this morning.” I feel my jaw slacken and my cheeks heat up. To be fair, who could blame me given all that had happened in the short time since I’d woken up? I must look completely mortified because Mom chuckles and relents, “Okay, fine, it wasn’t that bad. But I can sense these things, you know. I’m your mother.” She lifts both eyebrows this time. “You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

I drop my gaze to my fidgeting hands. “Look, Mom, I get it if you’re not a big fan of Johanna – I mean, I wasn’t for a long time either – but it’s none of your business. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture over my taste in women.”

“I like Johanna, actually,” Mom replies candidly. “She’s sweet to both my daughters, and they like her too. She saved your life. And she has…” Mom trails off in search of the right word. “Personality.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” I chuckle. “Very nicely, in fact.” We both laugh a little that time, but as it dies down I feel a shudder of dread move down my limbs. A big part of my reluctance to talk to Mom about this was just because of Johanna’s history and personality, but the most glaring abnormality of our hypothetical relationship factored in as well, and what I just said about my tastes has brought it to the forefront of my mind. I don’t quite know how to bring it up directly, but I feel I need to. I’ve never heard her speak one way or the other on the issue. There wasn’t much occasion for her to do so; I don’t recall seeing this at all growing up.

“So you’re fine with, like…” Mom holds my gaze attentively but doesn’t speak up. “You know…” I make a whirring gesture to suggest she continue that thought on her own, but still she remains silent. Either she doesn’t know what I’m getting at or she wants me to say it. “I mean, I’m okay with it, but… it doesn’t bother you that Johanna’s a woman?”

“Well if she was a man named Johanna, I’d feel really bad for her,” she quips.

“Mom,” I groan. “You know what I mean.”

She shakes her head, a hint of an amused smile finally creeping into her deadpan expression. “No, it doesn’t bother me. And even if it did, I wouldn’t make it an issue.” The surprise must be evident on my face because she elaborates, “I spent too many years at odds with your grandparents because I ‘married down,’ as it were. They thought I should have settled down with that lovely Mellark boy who was clearly smitten with me.” I snicker and immediately clap a hand over my mouth, but somehow this makes the situation even funnier and I snort a laugh out my nose. I think my heightened nerves from having to discuss this with my mother are making me particularly unstable. Mom grins and says what we’re both thinking. “Like mother, like daughter.” She grows quiet for a moment and my smile fades as I sense her seriousness. My gaze drops to my knee when I feel her hand come to rest there.

“I wouldn’t want to cause the same animosity between us over something even more trivial than class,” she declares, causing me to catch her eye again. “Class has some practical concerns. But this…” I suddenly notice her tongue making a bulge in her cheek as she tries to hide an oncoming smirk. “I never expected you to be the one to give me grandchildren anyway.” She chuckles at my embarrassed groan and shakes my knee a little. “You’ve always been a little different, you know. Even before…” She swallows and squeezes tighter. “Even as a kid. You were never what I expected out of a daughter.” I blink away involuntarily, but the feeling of her hand leaving my knee and landing on my cheek swiftly calls me back to her eyes. “I got something better. It turns out different isn’t bad. If you weren’t who you are, your sister would be dead and the districts would still be under Snow’s rule.”

“I guess,” I shrug, unsure of my emotional reaction to this is or how I should express it. I feel warm but vulnerable and still really uncomfortable. Mom gives me a patient smile and moves her hand to stroke my hair. I lean into her touch without meaning to.

“You were always so hard and serious,” she muses. “And I know a lot of that is my fault, I know. But it’s nice to see you halfway happy for a change.” I realize after a moment of silence that I’ve closed my eyes, so I open them to the sight of Mom squinting at me. “But I should also let you know that the screaming can be a little concerning.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s just how we are. Fiery. Passionate.” Mom looks unimpressed with this argument, so I assert, “Couples fight. It’s not like you and Dad never did. Don’t you remember how you lost it on him when you caught me singing ‘The Hanging Tree’?”

She drops her hand and ruminates on this for a moment before a look of recognition crosses her face and she confesses, “Hm. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Not me,” I mutter.

I’m not sure if Mom’s defending her marriage or just noting a flaw in my argument when she counters, “But Katniss, that was a rare occasion. Overall we had a very positive relationship.” I bet it’s probably the second motive.

“And my relationship with Jo is positive most of the time now, too.” Mom does not seem convinced, so I contend, “The fights are just more obvious. It’s not like you’re going to hear us screaming when we’re pleased with each other.” My mother’s face breaks into a smirk. It takes me a moment to understand why, but once I do I turn a deep shade of beetroot. “No, I didn’t mean…” I can tell she’s enjoying watching me squirm, so I force myself to hold her gaze and speak steadily. “Nothing like that has happened.” Not yet, but I’m hoping. I don’t say that part out loud.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, still smiling amusedly. “I put on that show about how you were too young for relationships to protect you, but we both know we’re far past the point where I can tell you what to do. Or who.” Well, at least she admits it. Atypical mother-daughter relationship, indeed. Her grin suddenly expands and she elbows me and chuckles, “At least I don’t have to worry about her knocking you up by accident, right?” Her laugh only grows when I groan in embarrassment yet again. It’s a moment before she speaks again, more seriously this time. “I have heard some things from this room that I find comforting, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to mask my sudden nervousness. “Like what?”

“Like your crying and screaming at night.” I’m about to ask how the hell she could find that comforting until she clarifies, “And how it stops.” I sigh and fiddle with my blanket. “I’m glad you have someone who can do that for you.”

“Peeta could do that too,” I reply offhandedly.

“You didn’t feel the same way about Peeta,” she rebuts just as quickly. I can’t argue with that, so I just catch her eye again and nod in affirmation. “It was never there. At least not like with Johanna. It’s like night and day.”

“Yeah,” I agree quietly. It’s hard to explain why I still feel guilty that I could never bring myself to love Peeta that way – I don’t even entirely understand it myself – so I don’t bother trying.

“Passion isn’t everything in a relationship, but you do need it,” declares Mom. “It’s not our fault those sweet blond boys didn’t do it for us.” I smirk at her. “And I…” She smiles wistfully. “I have no regrets, not in terms of who I married. But I would have regretted not marrying your father, even after he died.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “I’d probably have regretted it even more after he died, actually. Because then I could only mourn what could have been, ask myself ‘what if?’ for the rest of my life.” I wait for her to explain what she’s getting at, but she says no more.

“So what you’re saying is…?” I prod.

Mom considers her words for a moment before settling on, “Your heart knows what it wants, but your brain knows when something’s wrong. So as you navigate this relationship or whatever other ones you may have, just make sure you listen to both, okay?” I nod and she lays her hand on my knee again. “I just care that whatever relationship you’re in is healthy. And that it makes you happy.” For all the affirming exchanges in our conversation, this is the moment where I truly find myself relaxing. I exhale audibly and don’t fight the corner of my mouth that wants to turn up. Mom smiles in return and runs her fingers through my hair again. Before long, she relaxes back into the wall, raises her right arm invitingly and gestures for me to join her.

“Come on,” she says. I just stare at her and her outstretched arm at first but then she cocks an eyebrow warningly. “Katniss Everdeen,” she scolds me in that dangerous mothering tone that every child recognizes but I doubt she’s used on me once in the last six years. Every bit as surprising is the urge it creates in me to give in. Some part of me must still be that terrified eleven year-old who wants both her parents back more than anything in the world, who wants her mother to hold her securely and tell her that everything will be okay and that she doesn’t have to be anything more than a child mourning her father. I still try to feign ambivalence as I scoot over and allow my mother to take my weight in her arms, but the way my hand clutches her side while I settle in probably gives me away. I rest my head on her chest and it begins vibrating against me almost immediately as she starts to hum a tune. I can’t help the tear that rolls down my cheek as the strains of the lullaby reach my ears. This is the place where I love her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided not to leave an opening note warning about the mild non-con because a) it's quite minor, b) I didn't want to spoil any surprises, and c) I figured that anyone who is especially bothered by that would have stopped reading by now given all of the non-consensual kisses that have been going on and were even more aggressive. I'm sure Katniss's narrative in that moment makes it clear that I am not condoning her actions. Anyway, if anyone found that bothersome, I apologize.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for a very helpful beta read and suggestion that helped me make this chapter top-notch according to my own impossible standards. You're the best. You get a cookie.


	10. Mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a lot longer than usual, but life happened and I wrote a one shot in that time as well. And despite the fact that I've had snippets of this chapter written since before I published anything, it took a hell of a lot of work to flesh out and get right. It's also obscenely long, way longer than any other chapter, but I didn't want to cut it off any earlier... so, sorry if anyone feels like they are slogging through this. I hope it's worth the wait. ;)
> 
> Again, the recurring notes about mixing book and movie canon (apparently I now even do it within scenes) and taking/altering dialogue and/or narration straight from the text.

“Go on,” I goad. Prim blushes a little, shakes her head and eyes her tray. My sly grin only grows and I tease her, “Since when are you shy, little duck?” My sister looks up at me but doesn’t reply. “Or should I say, ‘little chicken’?” Her eyes narrow irritably and I gobble at her. Maybe I have some mean big sister in me after all, either that or I’ve just absorbed that quality from Johanna. It wouldn’t be the first of hers to rub off on me. In any case, it’s for Prim’s own good. I’ve finally pissed her off enough to make her tap the boy ahead of her in line on the shoulder in an effort to prove me wrong.

“Hey, Rory,” she ventures. “How’s training going? Are you in any Block classes yet?”

The younger Hawthorne turns to Prim and visibly swallows. “No.” They stare mutely for a couple seconds before he shrugs, “But that’s okay. Gale’s been helping me with the tactics and stuff, but I’m probably not ready for the Capitol anyway. The kids around here grew up with this stuff and I just started.” Rory suddenly straightens up and pushes out his chest. “You gonna train when you turn fourteen, if we’re still here? Or do you think you’ll stick with the doctor thing?”

“I couldn’t shoot someone if my life depended on it,” Prim answers honestly. She then starts relaying some anecdote from her doctor’s training to Rory, who listens with interest and laughs a little too much. I grin giddily as I watch the interaction unfold, and look past Rory to Gale and see him looking on in amusement as well. The best part is when Rory sets a cup of water on Prim’s tray and brushes her hand on the way by, resulting in them both jerking their hands back and apologizing profusely. The cup didn’t spill, but I’m barely able to contain a giggle anyway. I probably shouldn’t laugh, because I honestly understand. I’m still on edge over what happened during Reflection and I feel more hyper and jumpy than I have in years now that I’m expecting to see Johanna, at least from afar. I’ve forced myself not to search for her in the dining hall because I’m afraid of my own reaction.

“Do you want to come eat with us?” Gale casually asks Prim, saving his brother another awkward moment. When he lifts his eyes to me, I realize that question is for all of us.

“Sure!” Prim chirps, and Gale casts me one more glance before leading them over to where Hazelle is sitting with Vic and Posy.

“To be thirteen again,” our mother comments dryly from behind me.

I shoot her a smug grin and brag, “I was never like that.”

“No,” she quietly agrees.

Not missing her sudden absence of levity, I touch her wrist and assure her, “I probably wouldn’t have been even if… if it weren’t for everything. I wasn’t into boys and I didn’t realize I could–” I pause and bounce my eyes around our well-populated surroundings. “You know.” Mom smiles and winks conspiratorially. She blinks over to the kids again but then her gaze jumps elsewhere. I follow her eyes and flinch when I catch sight of Johanna seated with Finnick and Annie. I’ve been staring for a moment when I feel Mom’s eyes now land on me, and I shift uncomfortably. “I should…”

“Yeah, you should,” Mom concurs. She nudges me encouragingly and grins, “Go get your girl.” I smile gratefully and break from her side to join the trio. I sense Gale watching me but purposely avoid eye contact. His probable jealousy aside, I feel a little bad for abandoning what is otherwise a big family dinner.

I sidle up to the table and do my best to casually slip in to Jo’s left, but my mind and skin start buzzing the second I’m seated. I’m only inches from her, and it feels much closer than usual but yet not close enough. My roommate catches my eye and barely nods in acknowledgement, a gesture I return with far too much enthusiasm. I want to talk but I can’t seem to open my mouth, and I don’t know what I’d say even if I could. I’m worse than my thirteen year-old sister. How embarrassing.

Finnick notices my tense body language almost immediately and stops his ongoing chatter with Annie to ask, “What’s with you?”

I freeze like a deer caught in my crosshairs but thankfully Johanna steps in. “I cross-face cradled her this morning and she’s still embarrassed,” she explains nonchalantly. If she’s referring to my wrestling defeat, that’s not wholly untrue.

Finnick looks at me and then back at Jo, a lecherous smile growing on his face. “Hot,” he remarks with an eyebrow waggle.

Johanna throws a carrot stick at him. “Shut up, Finnick.” She nods behind us at my family table and mercifully changes the subject. “Littledeen finally got the guts to make a move on Rory, huh?”

I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth. “She told you about that?”

“What? You thought you were all we talked about while you were in Two?” Johanna turns her whole body toward me, lays a hand on my wrist and leans in as though she is about to impart some very important wisdom. “I know this war would lead you to believe otherwise, but the whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Mockingjay,” she condescends. Finnick sniggers and I feel my face heating up. Johanna’s expression rides the line between teasing and serious, but it doesn’t feel like a joke to me.

“So, what,” I challenge her, “you talked about boys?” Even saying this makes my stomach curdle with envy. Johanna likes boys. Boys such as my gorgeous cousin, as she put it.

“She told me she has a thing for short, dark, and handsome, yes,” Jo drawls.

“So who did you tell her you have a thing for?” I demand, straining to feign a playful tone. “Tall, dark, and handsome?”

I detect a dusting of pink in Johanna’s cheeks as she focuses on her food and shrugs, “I didn’t tell her I have a thing for anyone. Not that that stopped her from guessing.” She suddenly looks over her shoulder at Prim and Rory and grins widely, making a grand sweeping gesture. “Young love. Isn’t it adorable?”

“Sure,” I snort, “unless it’s Twiggy and Boobs.” Johanna responds with immediate laughter, prompting Finnick to follow suit. Even Annie joins in with a muted giggle.

“Twiggy and Boobs?” Finnick guffaws. “Johanna, that’s almost as bad as Nuts and Volts.”

“I can’t take credit for that one,” she smirks proudly. “That was all Katniss.” Finnick quirks an impressed eyebrow at me as he awaits an explanation.

“They’re a couple of kids in our Block squad who are always mooning over each other,” I grumble. “It’s fucking gross.”

Finnick grins broadly and leans in a little closer, resting his forearms on the table. “It must be,” he says.

“Downright nauseating,” I reiterate. “I’m always halfway expecting them to drop their weapons and start sucking face.” This brings on another round of laughter, so I insist, “I’m serious. They’re incompetent enough apart, but when they’re together they totally lose focus on the missions. It’s scary. Boobs is so smitten she’d probably follow her boy into an obvious death trap.” I’ve barely finished this sentence when I realize the comparison I just unwittingly drew. I hazard a glance at Johanna and quickly tack on, “But of course that could only happen if he was to do something really stupid to get himself into trouble, so it wouldn’t really be her fault.” I flick my eyes back to the couple and flush bright red under their curious, penetrating stares.

Jo sneaks her hand off the edge of the table and onto my knee while the attention is on me. She caresses the outside of it with her thumb reassuringly and nods toward Finnick and Annie. “Imagine if you two were fighting in the Capitol together.” My eyes immediately jump to Annie, who flinches but doesn’t exit the conversation like I expected. “It would be a disaster. Finn, you’d constantly be messing up because you’d be too worried about protecting Annie, and then in the middle of some big firefight you’d be like…” Johanna swivels on her ass to face me and claps her free hand over her heart theatrically. “‘My love, you have my heart, for all eternity,’” she proclaims melodramatically. Though I know she’s primarily mocking Finnick, she’s also doing that seductive thing with her eyes and I think I just might detect a hint of seriousness in them. I am probably just seeing what I want to see, but before I can study her expression any further, she is batting her eyelashes at Finnick and making my stomach turn. “‘And if I die, my last thought will be of your lips.’” She makes a gagging face and says, “More like you’ll die because you’re too busy thinking about her lips.”

Even if she only meant what she said to me as a joke, her words and a sudden possessive urge draw my knee over to lean against hers, causing her fingertips to brush the inside of it. I almost swoon. I start to lean over to rest my head on her shoulder until I remember we’re very much in public. My eyes close automatically when Jo fully cups the inside of my knee, and I mentally curse myself for acting like some kind of pathetic lovesick teenage girl. There’s a war going on, one that I basically started, and yet this is all I can think about even when I’m training. I need to get it together. We both do, or else we’ll befall the fate Johanna just described, the same one we met earlier. I withdraw my leg and sit up a little straighter. Jo barely even blinks over to me before placing her hand back on the table and turning to Finnick.

“But I shouldn’t be so hard on you,” she smiles sweetly. “That’s still not nearly as bad as Bread Boy’s cheesy love confession the year before.” Though Finnick and Annie immediately look my way to gauge my reaction, Johanna takes her time before smugly making eye contact. I feel obligated to glower at her on Peeta’s behalf, but the expression only comes out half-hearted because she’s not exactly wrong. And if she’s trying to get under my skin, she should know by now that Peeta’s not quite the sore spot he used to be.

“True enough,” I shrug. The shock on Finnick’s face is unsurprising, but even Johanna looks thrown by my candor. “What, Jo?” I demand. “I told you how I feel about that.”

“No, you didn’t,” she informs me quietly. Didn’t I? I could have sworn I verbally agreed with her when she said those things about his interview.

“Well I didn’t argue with you when you said it, did I?” I bluster, scrambling to recover. I toss a hand in the air flippantly and turn my focus to the newlyweds. “Whatever, I have no problem admitting it, not now.” Not now that Peeta is no longer dominating my thoughts. Not now that I care more about protecting Johanna’s feelings than his. “In all honesty, I attacked him once we got back to our floor. Sent him to the infirmary for stitches,” I disclose. I give that a second to sink in, and this time all three of them look completely floored, leaving me torn between insulted and embarrassed. Either they underestimated me or they thought I was of higher moral character than that. “What? It was fucking embarrassing for me,” I spout defensively. “He made me look weak.” I remember Haymitch’s words that night and concede, “Desirable, but weak.” 

“He made you a damsel,” comes Annie’s quiet voice.

“A what?” I blink.

“He made you into a victim who needs saving,” she clarifies, louder now. “Made himself some kind of noble hero when you were the real noble hero for saving your sister. He did the same thing in the cave, refusing to let you get the medicine to save him when he would have done it for you.” She shrugs and admits, “He probably didn’t mean to undermine you, but revealing you as the object of his affections turned you into an object in the eyes of the audience too. They started liking you because Peeta did, and it overshadowed your real strengths.”

Annie must be more aware of things than we all give her credit for. She just perfectly described something that always nagged at me under the surface of my relationship with Peeta and is completely absent from Johanna’s interactions with me. Johanna saved my life and often makes cracks about how incompetent I supposedly am, but she’s never coddled me or made me feel incapable on the basis of being the object of her affections. She’s protected me yet always challenged me to be better. She’s not afraid to criticize or push me, and I truly appreciate that about her, in the long run if not always in the moment. I let my knee fall against hers again. She doesn’t move her hand from the table this time, but lifts her foot and starts running it up and down my calf, effectively paralyzing me.

“Damn, Cresta,” Jo enunciates after a few moments of stunned silence around the table. “That was deep. Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I want to nod in agreement, but I still can’t move.

“How is Peeta, anyway?” Finnick suddenly asks. “Have either of you seen him since the other night?” Johanna shakes her head for the both of us, still not letting up with her foot. “I’m worried about him.”

Johanna takes this opportunity to drop her hand to my thigh again and give it a platonic pat. “Yeah,” she agrees. “We all are.”

“I didn’t just save his life for the rebellion, you know,” he directs toward me more than anyone. “He seemed like a good guy.” Finnick seems to regret this statement the instant he sees Johanna’s suggestive grin, and for good reason.

“Are you sweet on the Muffin Man, Finnick?” she purrs. “I mean, I did tell him the whole world wants to sleep with him.” She jerks her head in my direction and adds, “Except his girlfriend, that is.”

“I’m not his girlfriend, Johanna,” I snap. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“That’s like telling Gale not to brood,” Finnick pipes up, and I enjoy a rare chance to laugh at Johanna’s expense. Unfortunately, she knows just how to shut me up. When her hand slides up my inner thigh, a shudder spreads from the point of contact down my every limb and I almost choke. She smirks as she settles her hand just below the crease of my thigh, evidently very pleased with herself, and I try to glare but I seem to have lost control of my face.

“You all right there, Everdeen?” she asks, using a gentle finger to draw teasing circles over my pants.

“Uh–uh huh,” I stammer.

“You sure?” she probes verbally, curling her pinky up the crease and making my eyes squeeze shut. This fucking girl will be the death of me, figuratively if not literally. I changed my underwear before dinner but I can already feel the new ones getting wet, and I’m trying very hard but not very successfully to keep myself from visibly shaking.

“Yeah,” I say more confidently this time, peering at the girl through half-open eyes. “I’m great.”

I’m not exactly lying. I think she can tell. I think I’m okay with that.

***

I consciously grab the cuffs of my uniform sleeves to occupy my hands and make sure to keep a bit of distance between Johanna and me while we’re walking side-by-side on our way home from dinner. The air between us feels charged like it does during a lightning storm, making my skin prickle and all my hairs stand on end, and if I touch her at all I fear I might not be able to stop. That would be fine, except I’m usually very reserved with public displays of affection. Being forced into those was something I especially resented about my fake relationship with Peeta. I keep pace with Johanna’s casual amble, but if it were up to me I’d be running to the compartment, where we can be alone. Then we can at least talk in privacy, if nothing else. But I’m not even sure what I want to say. I’d rather be sure of her feelings before I voice mine. I mean, she’s clearly attracted to me on some level, but I don’t understand what happened earlier and I don’t think I could stand a repeat performance.

We reach our door and I slide it open for Johanna before she can reach out for the handle. “Wow, what a gentleman,” she drawls theatrically, and I wordlessly usher her inside, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. She starts to head deeper into the compartment as I’m closing the door behind us, but I catch her hand and give it a soft tug. She turns around, though somewhat begrudgingly, and I squint into her impatient eyes for a moment before I can find my words.

“Why did you leave?” I finally manage. “Before dinner, I mean.”

“I’m still mad at you,” she responds in a tone that suggests this should be obvious.

“But I apologized,” I reason. “And you kissed me.”

Johanna rolls her eyes and snaps, “I accepted your kiss, brainless, not your half-assed apologies and supposed gratitude.”

“Accepted it and then just walked out? Weren’t you…” I blush, unable to say it. “You know?”

“Aroused?” She winks, consciously stroking her thumb along my fingers. “Not like you were.”

I snatch my hand away, my cheeks now burning even hotter. “You did that on purpose,” I surmise indignantly.

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” she shrugs. “Besides, you deserved it.”

“You always did love the grand, dramatic exit,” I grumble. “Look, Johanna, you don’t have to go to such lengths to get your points across. It’s not like I don’t listen to you. I hang on your every word, you know.”

“Maybe you listen, but you don’t get it. I have to hammer on your thick fucking skull to get anything through it.”

“You were wrong, though!” I protest. A murderous darkness starts to come over Johanna’s eyes, so I lift a cautioning hand and backpedal, “Sort of. It doesn’t matter to the rebellion if I die anymore. The primary goal of the Mockingjay has been achieved, Coin said so herself.” I slouch and blink away before dragging my eyes back to Jo and sighing, “I’m expendable.”

Johanna swallows and wraps her arms around her stomach, then eyes and toes the ground for a long moment before inhaling deeply and finally breaking her silence. “Not to me,” she whispers shakily. “Don’t you understand, brainless? _I_ can’t lose you.” She meets my eyes. “You’re not just the Mockingjay to me.”

There. She’s done it again. Johanna Mason always seems to know exactly what I need to hear, and deliver it with such brutal honesty that it can’t possibly be ignored. It was only her words that assured me I’d been right to explain the clock setup of the Quell arena to the group, even though the Gamemakers consequently spinning the island had taken that advantage away for a time. It was only her words, her analysis of Prim’s untouchable status, that pierced my panicked stupor and comforted me after the jabberjay attack. Maybe she has known me better than anyone else all along. She’s always been the best at getting though to me, in any case. And now she has found a way to stamp out my deepest insecurity.

I blink back my forming tears and painfully swallow the lump in my throat as I drape my arms over Johanna’s shoulders and draw her into me. She lets herself fall softly against my chest without resistance, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist and tucking her face into the crook of my neck. I don’t hear her small contented sigh so much as feel it blow along my collarbone, but it’s one of the most wonderful sounds I’ve ever heard.

I don’t want to move ever again. This is so perfect – _she_ is so perfect – but I doubt I could ever adequately express that feeling in words. Instead I hope I convey it by tightening my arm around her, stroking what little hair she has, nuzzling her crown. I run my thumb along the top edge of the ear before lowering my head to leave a trace of a kiss there. Johanna grunts in response and I move my lips to her temple, lingering this time. I twitch abruptly as a few of her fingers start to draw light patterns on my sides, and reply by kissing her forehead at the hairline and running my left hand down her spine to her mid-back. A soft moan just barely escapes her lips, and suddenly this interaction doesn’t feel so perfect after all. I need more from her. More than that, I need to tell her how I feel. This purely physical communication just isn’t cutting it anymore.

“Jo.” I curl my fingers along her jaw and under her chin, tilting it up slightly so I can see her whole face. She reluctantly opens her eyes, rendering me mute yet again.

“What, brainless?” she breathes. I ghost my thumb across the corner of her mouth and she reflexively licks her lips. I will myself not to give in, to at least try to use my words instead. My mind flashes back to the engulfed hospital in Eight, to the charred man in Two. I can say just the right thing when impassioned – I have to trust that.

“I want you,” is what comes out of my mouth. Johanna doesn’t try very hard to suppress her smirk. That was definitely not intended to sound purely sexual, so I try again. “I want you in every way.” She arches a suggestive eyebrow. Somebody should just cut my tongue out right now. I screw my eyes shut and take a second to collect myself. “All of you,” I sigh, opening my eyes. “Please, Johanna, just-”

Her lips crush against mine before I really have a chance to register her suddenly serious expression or the intensity in her eyes. Her kiss is soft but deep, her touch tender. She languidly runs her hands up my sides as we continue our gentle but passionate exchange, eventually bringing them to rest behind my neck. Her breathing quickens slightly, prompting my heart to do the same. I swallow and struggle to hold myself together for at least a moment longer, but that now familiar warmth in my stomach is back and spreading quickly. Johanna pushes up on her toes to close the height gap, arching her back in the process, and my hands instinctively roam there. I trace my fingers down the small of her back, reveling in the gasps it draws from her and the feeling of her muscles tensing under my touch. When I reach the top of her tailbone, I drag my hands back up to the arch and pull her ever closer. I whimper into her mouth as she moans into mine, and a sudden surge of desire overwhelms us both and propels Johanna forward to pin me against the door.

“Fuck, Katniss,” she rasps into my neck before dipping down to grab the backs of my thighs and hike them up over her hips. I grunt my approval and instinctively cinch my legs tight around her waist. The older victor hooks her hands under my knees and rolls her hips forward, pressing herself into my crotch. I groan and she pulls back and does it again. And again. This has only been going on for a few moments, punctuated by sporadic kisses that I really have to crane down for now, when a noise from outside breaks our lustful haze and freezes us in place. Mom and Prim’s footsteps echo down the grating of the hall of sorts leading to our compartments, their voices unmistakable. Johanna breathes into my heaving chest, her ear pressed to my heart, while I listen with wide eyes. When their chatter finally disappears behind their door I release a deep breath that morphs into a chuckle.

“We gotta be quiet,” I whisper, reaching down to lock the door. Johanna silently nods her agreement and releases my thighs to let me slide to the ground. My hands find her hips the instant my feet hit the floor, and I start to walk her backward into the compartment. I catch those soft lips again almost immediately and swipe my tongue along them until she gives me a small opening and I slip it into her mouth to dance with hers. She fists my shirt and drags me toward the sleeping nook as much as I’m pushing her in the same direction. My nerves have almost overtaken me by the time we arrive, and a sudden whimper from the smaller girl sets me off and forces me to break away to laugh aloud.

Johanna squints up at me defensively. “What’s so funny?” she demands through swollen lips. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it before regaining eye contact.

“Nothing’s funny,” I assure her. When her eyes narrow further I choke out another giggle and ramble, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just… it’s good to know it’s not just me. With these feelings, I mean.” I trace my thumbs over her hipbones and don’t try to disguise the depths of lust and adoration I know must be written on my face.

“No, it’s not just you,” Johanna chuckles with an amused headshake. “I’ve always wanted you, Everdeen. I was just waiting for you to ask.” Well, that’s news to me.

“Really?”

Johanna shoots me an incredulous look and articulates, “When we first met, I told you I wanted to rip your dress off. Then I got naked right in front of you and said we should do it again sometime. How much more forward did I have to be, brainless?”

“I took the dress thing as a threat thinly veiled in girl talk,” I confess, blushing heavily and dropping my eyes. “I thought you were just trying to unnerve me.”

“Oh, I was. Just not for the reason you assumed.” Johanna grins and tucks a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “I should have expected you to misinterpret something so obvious – I always thought you were an idiot.” I try to glare at her and she adds, “A brave, passionate, beautiful idiot. You drove me nuts, but I couldn’t get my mind off you.” She boosts herself up on her toes and whispers against my lips, “Some things never change.” She winks teasingly and I roll my eyes.

“The feeling is mutual,” I deadpan before closing the gap again. Now that I can initiate kisses without fear, I can’t seem to get enough. We waited far too long for this. I guess it’s only been about two weeks since the first thought of kissing her crossed my mind, but it feels like months. I release her hips a few moments into this kiss and slip my hands under the hem of her shirt. I slide them up her sides to probe her ribs directly, the heat of her skin burning my venturing fingertips and flowing directly to my groin.

I’m in the act of dragging my hands back down when Johanna lifts her arms above her head. I’m confused for only a split second before I realize what she’s prompting me to do and a jolt shoots through my whole body, landing particularly hard between my legs. I’ve seen Johanna undress innumerable times, but I’ve never been a participant in the act before. My pounding heart has now taken to palpitating but I gulp down my nerves and take the hem between my fingers. I meet Johanna’s deep brown eyes and find them reassuring, so I stare into them until the fabric I’m pulling over her head obstructs my view. Once it’s gone, there are much more interesting sights to take in. I dip my head to her neck and kiss my way down it with gentle pecks while I brush my fingers over her newly exposed skin. I stoop to reach her clavicle and, as I run my tongue along the underside of the bone, I decide I need to improve my access to this newfound paradise.

I straighten up, rotate us 90 degrees, and take a few steps until the top of Johanna’s butt bumps against the edge of my bed. Still lacking the confidence to touch her where I must to boost her up, I respond to her raised eyebrows by flicking my eyes up in a silent request. She smirks but lets me off the hook and does it herself. My new slight height disadvantage allows me prime access to her collarbone, which my mouth returns to without a thought before she’s even settled. Johanna reaches over my shoulders and pushes on my upper back to draw my whole body in closer, then locks her knees around my hips and yanks my chin up so she can meet my lips in a searing kiss. Her tongue plunges into my mouth and battles with mine while she lays a hand on the back of my head, wraps it around my braid and slowly slides it a ways down its length. Eventually she tightens her grip and tugs softly to tip my head back, breaking our kiss and giving her a turn to reach my neck.

I’m so preoccupied with the soft, wet heat of Johanna’s lips and tongue on the sensitive skin below my jaw that I barely notice her second hand move to my braid and work with the first to rid it of its elastic and detangle it, but I definitely notice when she rakes her nails along my scalp and threads her fingers into the loosened locks. When she pulls back a moment later, I lower my head to find her eyes burning and blackened with desire. I surge forward to resume kissing but I’ve barely made contact before she tightens her grip and presses on the top of my head. She guides my mouth back to where it was before, but then unexpectedly keeps pushing downward. Oh. I settle my lips on her pecs and tuck my thumbs under the elastic of her bra, trying to calm my breathing as I slide them around to her back.

My hands find the clasp holding the bottom strap together and struggle to release the hooks. Why is this so much more difficult to do on another girl? I guess I’m used to being able to see what I’m doing, but still, I’d think I’d know how to work one of these things. I manage to free it after a few fumbling attempts and then graze my fingers up to her shoulders to slide the straps down her arms. The bra falls to the floor and I’m hit with a sudden wave of insecurity as I realize I have no idea what to do next. I never got anywhere near this far with Gale or Peeta, so I have no experience of my own to draw from. If I don’t even know what I would want in this situation, how should I know what she wants? I flick my eyes up momentarily to seek guidance, but when none is forthcoming I return my mouth to its previous position and reach up to palm her breasts. I squeeze tentatively, and as I trail my lips over to her sternum to plant kisses in her cleavage, I start to feel a tremor under my lips. At first I smile into her flesh, under the assumption that it’s a tremble of overwhelming desire, but then I hear a suppressed snigger sneak out of Johanna’s nose and I snap my eyes up to find that she is laughing at my incompetence, as usual. I knew she’d do this. I narrow my eyes indignantly.

“Sorry,” she giggles, “you’re just so adorable.” 

“Really?” I question her dangerously. “Adorable?”

Johanna’s face falls and I can almost see her walls come back up right before my eyes. “Well of course, Twelve,” she smirks half-heartedly. “You wouldn’t be holding my boobs if I thought you were unattractive.”

“That…” I angrily mumble at the floor, “that is not what I meant.” I spy her questioning expression and clarify, “I know you love to make fun of me, but now’s really not a good time.”

“I’m not making fun of you.” I glare disbelievingly and she protests, “You’re the one who was laughing not even five minutes ago.”

“That’s different,” I mutter. “I was nervous. I _am_ nervous.”

Johanna laughs ironically and shakes her head. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe I’m nervous too, brainless?” No, it really hasn’t.

“You? You’re the one who’s done this before,” I blurt.

“Yeah, but not–” Jo stops short and blinks a few times. “Look, I didn’t mean it as an insult, okay?”

“I just…” I deflate with a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

A sly grin comes over Johanna’s face. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.” She winks. “I’ll be your new mentor. Way more useful than Haymitch ever was.” I can’t help but smile at that, and she leans in to kiss my lips again. She’s laid a couple of pecks down by the time I respond in kind, and before our tongues get a chance to get involved she’s fisting my shirt again, scooting backward and pulling me up to join her. I’ve barely got my knees under me before she smacks a palm into my chest and shoves me down onto the bed. The jarring impact kicks my brain back into gear. Is this actually happening? Johanna Mason is half-naked and looming over me predatorily, like something out of my best dreams or worst nightmares. With the cocktail of desire and anxiety coursing through my veins, my body can’t seem to distinguish which it is. I hope it’s neither.

Johanna grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, putting me in the same position as earlier, but this time she does lean down and make contact, sweeping her tongue into my mouth with the same dominance she’s exerting over the rest of my body. It’s only a few seconds before she moves my hands together above my head and secures them both in one of hers before reaching down to grope my breasts. She takes turns massaging each of them as she continues to kiss me, adding attention to my nipples teasingly slowly. At first it just consists of tracing circles around them with a finger, but it progresses to rubbing directly over the nubs, then to flicking the aroused peaks side to side or up and down once they are erect enough to make this somewhat possible even through my clothes. It becomes too much but yet not enough when she starts pinching them lightly, and my head tilts back and breaks our kiss, groans escaping my throat even though I’m purposely pressing my lips together. Johanna breaks my resolve when she tweaks a nipple, causing my mouth and eyes to fly open.

“Fuck… Johanna…” I breathe.

“We’re getting there,” she smirks, returning to the flicking. My back arches up automatically to increase the force of her hand, which suddenly moves to grab the front of my bra through my shirt and yank my torso up off the bed. She sinks down onto her heels at the same time, effectively straddling my hips and sitting on my lap, and my nervousness is suddenly drowned out by an overwhelming want that directs my hand down toward where we’re connected. Johanna starts to lift my shirt, forcing my arms up before I can reach it, and I expel a needy whimper. I push one of my thighs up to contact the area in lieu of my hand, culling a surprised grunt from the other girl, and once the shirt clears my eyes I’m treated to an expression equal parts impressed and amused. She tosses my shirt to the floor and remarks, “And they say you’re all pure and shit.”

I grin mischievously and banter, “I guess I just didn’t have the right people trying to corrupt me.” I keep my arms up so Johanna can relieve me of my bra, but instead she leans forward to force me back down, grinning sadistically and giving me those lusty eyes. She never loses that eye contact even as she shuffles backward on her knees to lavish kisses on my abdomen. I huff in frustration. She’s teasing me on purpose. Again. I think she plans to follow through this time, though. I might die if she doesn’t. I can barely breathe as it is.

I’m glad my arousal can be used as an excuse for the excessive tension in my abs while Johanna keeps this up. She still doesn’t know I’m ticklish, and I want to keep it that way. Nonetheless, the arousal takes on more and more responsibility for it as she starts kissing diagonally downward from my naval toward my left hip, and I have to put all my effort into not squirming under her touch. Her right hand has meanwhile joined her mouth, and her thumb now trails along the flesh just inside my hipbone and drags the waistbands of my pants and underwear down, her tongue following just behind it and leaving a wet streak in its wake. I finally lose control of my torso and arch up off the bed as I mewl and feel a rush further dousing my already soaked underwear. I think I feel a hand touching my back for a split second, but when I fall flat on the mattress again there’s nothing under it.

Johanna lays a few quick kisses much farther apart than before on her way back up, and once she makes it to my ribs she lifts her head and reaches for my shoulders. She curls her fingers under my bra straps and draws them down my arms, but to my surprise the garment comes completely off instead of holding to my torso by its back strap. My eyes catch the unfastened clasps as Johanna drops it off the bed, and I stare at her in wonderment. “How did you do that?”

Johanna barely mumbles an “I’ll show you later” in her rush to get her mouth down to my finally naked breasts. She wastes no time wrapping her lips around a nipple and suckling, emitting a muffled moan that draws one out of me. Actually, I’d probably still be making noise even if she wasn’t. I had no idea how good this would feel. My volume increases when she starts rubbing it with her tongue while still keeping her mouth clamped shut, so she releases it with a pop and grins. “Shhh,” she reminds me with a cheeky wink and a finger at her lips. I roll my eyes. Jo quickly returns her tongue to work, gently circling and probing the bud before grazing her teeth over it, causing me to arch my back again and hiss. She smirks and takes to flicking it with her tongue, which incidentally feels at least a hundred times better than it did with her finger over two layers of clothing. After maybe a minute of this she sucks me twice more, harder this time and perhaps purposely testing my threshold for silence, before kissing over to the other breast and repeating the same kind of treatment, her hand coming up and replacing her mouth on my other side.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Every ministration on my hardened nubs shoots pleasure straight to the throbbing one between my legs, but not the kind of pleasure I ultimately need. The ache in my nipples is unbearable in the best way possible, but the one in my crotch is torture. No, not torture, I can’t use that word after everything. But it’s something in that realm. I start writhing and flexing involuntarily under Johanna’s touch and whisper her name pleadingly along with a few curse words, but this has no effect on her actions. It’s like she needs me to be bursting with need and every possible emotion before she’ll give me what I want most.

I dig a heel into the back of her thigh but it slips off and I grunt in frustration. I’m not only aching for her touch in that one obvious area. Propped up on her forearms and knees, she’s too far away. As much as I love – more than love – what she’s doing, I want to feel all of her with all of me. No, I need to. I kick Johanna’s legs out and grab just above her elbows, pulling them toward my head so she is flattened on top of me and I’m bearing her full weight. Finally. Her head fell just above my shoulder, so while I run my fingers ardently down her back I kiss her ear and across her cheek in an effort to make her lift her head. She does, pulling herself up the bed to finally rejoin our lips and consequently pressing our breasts together. I moan into the kiss, so lost in the unexpected eroticism of it that my legs mindlessly wrap around Jo’s waist and my hips grind up into her. In turn, she dips a thigh down and nudges it into my groin, making my head and eyes roll back in pleasure.

“I seem to remember you like this,” she teases, and as I rejoin reality and catch on to what she means, I instantly feel myself turning beet red.

“Oh my god.” I cover my face with my hands. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I _was_ ,” she laughs. “Imagine my surprise.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble into my palms, peeking out through a crack in my fingers.

“I didn’t mind. Feel free to wake me up that way anytime.” Sensing my confusion, she explains, “I didn’t react because I still wanted you to ask. Just because you’re hard for me doesn’t mean you’re ready.”

I squint at her. “Just because I’m what?”

Johanna stares at me like I have two heads for a second, but then simply laughs, “You’re adorable. Never mind.” It takes me a few seconds to figure out what she meant, but even once I get it, I’m more indignant than embarrassed. I decide to show her just how adorable I’m not. I push up on her hipbones to give myself a little space to work with, then make quick work of her button and zipper and unceremoniously rip her pants off. Or down her legs, I guess, as far as I can reach. Johanna’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, but in surprise and arousal rather than amusement. That’s better. I lift one of my feet to grasp the material between my toes and drag it farther down her legs, and she rapidly joins in the effort, kicking the offending garment free and off the bed. She suddenly pulls away and rolls back onto her butt, and I am perplexed until I realize she is peeling her socks off. Mine quickly follow, and before I know it she is on her knees above me, her hands at my waistband. I’m not sure which is making me more nervous, the sight of her all but naked with her hands on me or the feeling of her fingers manipulating the zipper and touching me so close to where I need her, but I’m losing control of my breathing and I feel like I’m having a heart attack again. I gulp when I feel her fingers caressing just above the border of the material, but urge her on by lifting my hips. Being less timid than I, Johanna grabs my underwear as well as my pants, pulling the remainder of my clothing off in one fell swoop.

I’d think Johanna were appraising a work of art or a fine meal laid out before her, the way she runs her eyes over my body once the last of my garments have fallen to the floor. Perhaps she thinks of me as both. The attention is intimidating, but it’s the anticipation that causes me to tremble under her gaze. Jo breaks out of her trance and narrows her eyes slightly. “Are you okay?” she asks. I nod mutely. The concern doesn’t entirely leave her face but she leans down nonetheless and returns her attention to my breasts. Most of it, anyway. Her right hand has landed just above one of my knees and is slowly stroking its way up the skin of my inner thigh. I try to wait patiently and enjoy the wonderful sensations brought on by her hands and mouth, and I honestly am enjoying them immensely, but I feel like one of those pedestal mines, poised to explode upon the slightest contact. When she makes it to the damp skin mere inches from the crease of my thigh, the anticipation and desire finally overtake me and I go from shivering to all out quaking beneath the smaller girl. She releases my nipple from her lips, much to my chagrin, and lays her hands flat on my chest and hip to push herself up a little and give me another analytical scan. “We don’t have to do this,” she assures me, and though the raging lust in her eyes says otherwise, I know she means it. The thing is, she’s completely misinterpreted my bodily reactions.

“I’m not afraid,” I declare plainly. My need is just so great that my body can’t contain it anymore. Jo still appears unconvinced, so I grab her neck to pull her down for a kiss. “I’m ready,” I whisper into her lips. That’s all the encouragement she needs. Johanna finally trails her hand down from my hip and between my legs, and we both gasp at the long-awaited contact. I buck my hips and have to bite my lip in a struggle to silence the animalistic sound erupting from my throat when Johanna slides her fingers up and grazes my clit. She increases the pressure and rubs the pulsing bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm while I dig the nails of one hand into the flesh over her scapula and grab a fistful of sheets with the other. I’m familiar with the physical pleasure of fingers between my legs from the odd time I’ve found my body needing release, but I’ve never felt it paired with the visceral arousal I experience from kissing and touching Peeta or Johanna… mostly Johanna. The combination of both feelings is otherworldly.

It takes a lot to tear my focus from the ecstasy between my legs, but Jo’s ragged breaths in my ear and the accompanying hot rushes of air over the skin of my neck reawaken a certain carnal impulse I felt a few minutes ago, and my right hand releases the sheets in its grasp and worms its way into her underwear. My eyes roll back into my head at the feeling of my fingers dipping into her slick heat, but a quiet moan of approval from above me pops them back open in time to see Johanna raising her head to eyeball me curiously. She wriggles her knees farther out from my hips to grant me easier access and I immediately mirror her hand movements. This being the one thing I at least sort of know how to do, I have the confidence to go hard from the start. Johanna already looks pleasantly surprised, but when I change it up and start moving my two fingers in a circular pattern, she quirks a mystified eyebrow.

“I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing,” she remarks, shuddering as I stretch my fingers forward to tease the soft, sensitive skin of her folds.

“With breasts,” I clarify. “I’m not in the habit of touching those.”

A smirk threatens to split Jo’s face wide open. “So then what _are_ you in the habit of touching?”

I can’t help the deep blush in my cheeks as I blink away and mumble, “‘Habit’ is a massive exaggeration.”

“Shit, that’s hot as fuck,” says Johanna. “You’re a lot dirtier than I thought, Everdeen.”

I pull my fingers back toward me, grinning smugly when her jaw locks in an open position and her eyes squeeze shut in response. “Oh, you have no idea,” I husk, struggling to focus through my own pleasure. “Would you like to know what I was doing on this very bed not even an hour ago?” It takes Johanna a mere few seconds of thought to realize that I’m referring to right after she left. I can recognize the exact instant she gets it because her eyes abruptly widen in shock and lust and her fingers speed up. “Until my mom walked in,” I add sourly.

Jo’s hand now all but stills as she ducks her head and releases a breathy laugh. I can’t help but join in, though I am conscious not to stop like she did. “I’ve been there,” she sympathizes. “Fucking awkward.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle, “I don’t think she saw what I was up to, but I didn’t get to finish either.”

My lover grins mischievously and moves her fingers to circle my entrance. “I can help you with that,” she winks. I grab her by the back of the head – how I wish she had enough hair to pull – and push her ear to my lips.

“I’m counting on it,” I growl, and suddenly both of Johanna’s hands are moving at a frenzied pace and she’s kissing up my neck and licking behind my ear. I in turn speed up until her suppressed moans echo mine, producing the sexiest chorus I’ve ever heard. I can feel the movements of her arm through my grip on her shoulder blade, and though it’s upping my arousal, I still feel stuck on the plateau, as it were. Maybe it’s just nerves, or performance anxiety, I don’t know. Whatever my problem is, Johanna certainly doesn’t have it. She’s panting and groaning into my neck again and starting to quiver under my hands.

“Katniss,” she gasps just preceding a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine, and a sudden surge of aggression rumbles through me. In a split second I have flipped us and am staring down into Johanna’s wildly aroused eyes. Knowing I caused that raises a swell of pride in me and I can’t help the grin that plows its way onto my face. “What?” she demands.

“You’re just so adorable,” I mock her before I have time to think about my words or their consequences, though Johanna’s narrowing eyes quickly bring that to light.

“Fuck you,” she hisses. I suppose this should intimidate me, but my smile only grows and I lean down to kiss her on the lips.

“Actually,” I murmur as I kiss my way over to her ear, “I’d rather fuck you.” The small noise from the back of her throat and the tipping of her head tell me she’s enjoying this despite herself. I attack her exposed neck with my lips, and almost my teeth too until I remember that I don’t want to leave marks on the girl where the whole district can see them. It’s none of their business who I’m fucking, despite the fact that the entire country seems to think they are entitled to that information. In lieu of biting, I lick a long streak back up her neck before lifting my head to make eye contact again. Johanna’s face is slack with arousal but she manages to glare indignantly at my smug expression. Good. It’s about time the tables were turned.

“Just so you know,” I whisper, “I’m a fast learner.” With that, I swiftly descend to her breasts and give them another squeeze, a more confident one this time. I swipe my thumbs across her nipples and she bucks her hips under me, jamming her lips together to hold in her vocal response. I grin and resume the action repeatedly, mesmerized by the contortions of her face and the whimpers she’s having a hard time suppressing. The feeling of the nubs hardening under my touch spurs me on and stokes the flames in my belly and between my legs. I eventually manage to break out of the daydream of sorts and pinch the erect nipples between my thumbs and the sides of my index fingers and pull upward. I can’t even describe the satisfaction I feel from seeing Johanna’s hand fly up to muffle the noise that wants to break out of her mouth. I release my grip and wait for her to catch my eye. She does, impatiently, and I throw her a saucy wink before I lower my mouth to one of the peaks and close my lips around it with teasingly light pressure.

“For fuck’s sake, Katniss,” she grumbles when I begin suckling softly. I still haven’t lost eye contact and now arch an eyebrow at her but don’t change what I’m doing. She moves a hand to tangle in my hair, but I nab her wrist and pin it to the bed.

“So you can give it but you can’t take it, huh?” I smirk before returning my mouth to its previous job, but I mercifully increase the vigor of my movements and thereby the volume of her whimpers. I don’t wait too long before massaging the nub with my tongue while still sucking, much like she did to me before, and she suddenly slaps both hands over her face and whines into her palms. Her legs curl around my butt and her knees dig into my waist, prompting a sudden burst of arousal within me, but I try to keep it under control as I graze my tongue across her cleavage on my way to her other nipple. I barely have time to swirl my tongue around it before she moans and weaves her fingers into the hair at the base of my scalp, and I lose my resolve the second she closes her fist, pulling my hair in the process. Who am I kidding? I’m enjoying holding her pleasure hostage, but I loved the feeling of her and I want to be touching her again probably even more than she wants it.

I tear my face from her breast to sit up on my knees and curl my fingers under the edge of her underwear. We lock eyes again, and I can only hope that the savage passion in her face is reflected in mine. I can’t let her doubt for one second how desperately I want her. That, along with the lust that has all but taken over me, compels me to violently pull the undershorts off without any further ado. She pulls her knees up to her chest so I can slide them off completely without having to move too much and, after a brief snag on her ankles, I manage to rip them off and emphatically spike them onto the floor. I turn back to Johanna, brimming over with desire and fully intending to pounce immediately, but the vision I’m presented with gives me pause. I gape at the beautiful creature spread before me and unconsciously breathe her name. I’ve seen Johanna stark naked numerous times, but never like this, never lying there waiting for my touch, wanting it. Wanting me.

“It’s well-established that you like staring at me naked, Everdeen,” the other girl smirks, “but are you gonna do it all day?” Even now, I can’t help but blush a little. Granted, she was looking at me the exact same way mere minutes ago, but she’d never seen me nude before, so she had an excuse. I still haven’t made a move, so Jo rolls her eyes and spreads her knees apart. Now that’s something I haven’t seen before. On her, that is. I’ve never cared for the view of other people’s parts, and even now I feel kind of awkward looking at hers, but I’m not grossed out either. I look up and see she is still wearing that infuriating, challenging smirk, so I push my shyness aside and reach out to run a curious finger up her slit. Her whole body twitches when I reach her crimson nub, so I slide back down to further wet my finger and then return to give it more attention. This is a different experience altogether when I can see what I’m doing. The sight of her abundant arousal is causing even more to seep out of me and I can feel the flush in myself where I can see it on her. It’s weird to see what’s going on between my own legs mirrored back at me, but it’s not bad. Ultimately, though, I crave the wholly unobstructed skin contact that is now finally possible, so I move forward to align our bodies again.

A few kisses later, I reposition my mouth and free hand over Johanna’s breasts and put them back to work – much to her delight, as indicated by the hitches in her breath and the arching of her back. Without the sight available, I now get lost in the wet clicking sound my fingers are making, the sensations of her flesh in my mouth and her heart echoing through her chest. That is, until she sneaks a hand up between my legs and brings a chunk of my attention back there. Not a lot, though, because I’m thoroughly enjoying what I’m doing to her and the reactions I’m getting. That being said, I feel like I might actually be able to come this time. Now that I’m on top, I guess that might be the issue. I’m not sure I want to know what that says about me. 

“Inside,” gasps Johanna, causing me to catch her eye. Since I don’t want to stop what I’m doing with my mouth, I raise a questioning eyebrow. The woman laughs and combs the fingers of her free hand through my hair affectionately. “I want you inside me, brainless,” she articulates. Oh. I guess I should have thought of that. If Jo’s been with guys, she would be used to that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, have never put anything up there, but it must feel good if she wants it. I’d just always assumed that that part was something women would put up with for the sake of their husbands and for making babies. We didn’t have the most comprehensive sexual education in school back in Twelve, and when I was going through puberty my mother was about as useful as Buttercup, so.

I blink back up to Johanna to see she is waiting impatiently, so I swallow my nerves and move my hand down. I pause again. How many fingers am I supposed to use? I mean, I’ve seen men naked, but supposedly they get bigger when they’re aroused. Three seems reasonable, but I decide two is safer to start, and then I plunge in before I can delay myself any further. Johanna lets out a noise that sounds rather pained, and I am about to pull out in a panic when I feel her clench her walls around my fingers and push her hips down to drive me deeper. I blink up to her face again to find it approving, so I release the breath I was holding and pull back. I think you’re supposed to only pull partway out, so I stop halfway before pushing back in, watching Johanna’s reactions the whole time. I can’t really read her expression, but she nods when she sees me watching her.

I’m just starting to think I have this figured out when she gives me another strange order. “Curl your fingers.” I do as I’m told and close my fingertips tight against my palm. Jo grunts and bucks her hips briefly during the movement, but then shakes her head and says, “No no. I mean, yeah, like that, but…” She trails off, trying to focus. “It’s a repetitive thing. Like if you’re saying, ‘Come here.’” She demonstrates the familiar gesture for good measure and notes, “You’ll feel a sort of rough patch.” I slowly unfurl my fingers and experimentally apply a bit of pressure to her front wall. I know when I’ve found the spot, both from the tactile sensation she promised and from her own reaction of squeezing my fingers again and lifting her hips slightly. “That’s it.” I start the motion she described before and her eyes grow in surprise before scrunching up with the rest of her face. “Fuck, Everdeen,” she pants, “you _are_ a fast learner.”

I push myself up by my forearm to grin over her face. “Maybe not so brainless after all, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she smirks in return.

I pull my fingers all the way out and harden my gaze, though I almost smile when Johanna whimpers in protest despite herself. “Shut up,” I command. “I may not know what I’m doing, but at least I’m doing it well.”

“Are you?” she winks. I thrust into her again particularly hard and her eyes pop wide open. “Fuck!”

“Shhh,” I warn her, mimicking her condescending expression from earlier, before settling back down and resuming the movements of both hands and my mouth, trying to optimally combine the finger curling with the overall pumping motion of my arm. Jo pushes her hips down to meet my hand again in a rocking motion, and once we catch a rhythm she reaches up once more and tries weakly to alleviate the ache between my legs. Unfortunately, her efforts die down as I push her closer to the edge, as evidenced by the increasing tremor in her hips. I suppose it’s a compliment that she can’t concentrate enough to reciprocate, and I care more about getting her off anyway, but I’m still a bit disappointed.

“Use your thumb,” Johanna suddenly forces out through ragged breaths. I obey and flick it over her nipple, but then she breathlessly chuckles, “The other one, brainless.” The other one? What am I supposed to do with that thumb? There’s nothing there to… oh. I think I get it. I dip my thumb down to slicken it and then apply it to her clit, resulting in a sharp jerk of her hips and an even sharper cry of ecstasy. It wasn’t all that loud, but still I raise my eyes to give the girl a warning look. Hypocritically, I’m starting to have a hard time holding in my own moans and grunts. Johanna may not be touching me at the moment, but I’m manipulating all of her most sensitive parts at once and have her writhing under me, urging me on, and it’s turning me on more than I knew was possible. She solves her half of the problem by pulling the pillow out from under her head and stuffing it into her face. Even through it, I can hear her moans turning into screams and it gives me an extra shot of energy to speed up to a blistering pace.

I can’t keep up the thumb movement when I’m fucking her so aggressively, so I slide my left hand down the tense plane of her stomach to take over that part. I dig my forehead into her pecs to support my weight and give up on nipple stimulation altogether in favor of getting enough air. Johanna tears one hand from its place on the pillow to grab my hair and pull it again, culling another aroused groan from me that I realize too late is no longer dampened by my mouth contents. I do my best to hold in any more vocalizations as Jo clamps her thighs around my pelvis and her hips start to shake more violently. Only seconds later, they shoot up off the mattress and her walls contract hard around my fingers. I think that means she’s coming, especially in combination with the delightful moan I can hear from under the pillow, but I’m not sure so I keep going until I feel her legs shaking around me. That’s a sign I know from my few more successful attempts at self-pleasure.

I halt my ministrations and try to catch my breath, listening to Johanna as she continues to groan and mumble into the pillow. I’m not sure, but I think I hear my first name in there a few times. I can hear her a bit better now because she’s taken her remaining hand off the pillow. I follow the path of her arm and am surprised to see she’s rubbing her clit herself, albeit softly. And here I thought my job was finished. I sheepishly reach back down and touch her hand, and she doesn’t resist when I lift it and take over. In fact, she cups the back of my hand and strokes her thumb over it encouragingly. I definitely hear her say my name this time and I smile in satisfaction and affection. And pride, admittedly. A few moments later, she grips my hand tighter and pulls it up her body and under the pillow to rest on her cheek. She’s just laid a kiss on my palm when I pluck the pillow off her beautiful face and get a load of her post-orgasmic haze, all glazed eyes and parted lips. I start leaving a trail of delicate pecks along her jaw, but she pulls my face back to where it was so she can look me in the eye. I rest my forehead on hers and just enjoy sharing breaths with her as she recovers.

My lover’s eyes slowly regain their focus, her mouth turning up into a shy smile. I lift myself up off her chest and brace my weight on my elbows, beam down at her and playfully inquire, “So how’d I do, mentor?”

She clears her throat and chuckles, “Training score of twelve, Twelve.” The lingering rasp in her voice makes me shudder and I feel a swell of arousal more than the pride I expected. Johanna seems to sense this and cranes up to connect our lips. “You did great,” she husks into my mouth. Several kisses later, she adds, “But that should be expected. You learned from the best.” She’s flipped us before I even have a chance to think about fighting back, not that I would anyway. My eyes pop in lust as she sits up to straddle my lower stomach, pressing her wet warmth down onto my skin. She pins my arms by my sides and grins evilly. “Now where was I, you little shit? Before I was so rudely interrupted.”

I don’t bother answering that rhetorical question and just close my eyes as Johanna shuffles down the bed a little and grazes her fingers over the skin of my inner thigh. I try to relax and simply enjoy the feeling, but she is progressing upward painfully slowly, and in my opinion we are far past the point of teasing. I crack open one eye and inform her, “That’s not where you were.”

“No?” Johanna smiles sweetly. “Are you sure about that?” She trails her hand further down my thigh and I grunt in frustration. Her grin only widens and my eyes clench shut as tight as my jaw.

“Jo,” I breathe, fighting to keep my voice steady. She still doesn’t respond, so I try again. “Johanna, please.” I realize this may have been a mistake when I open my eyes and spot her sadistic smirk.

“Thought it would take more than that to make you beg, Everdeen.” Despite her smug expression, she sounds almost disappointed. When I fail to produce a witty comeback fast enough, she continues, “You didn’t seem so desperate when you decided to take over.”

“I never asked you to stop,” I point out. “It’s not my fault you can’t multitask.”

Johanna balks and gives me such a hard glare my insides turn to jelly, but in a good way. “Fuck you, I can multitask.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge her. Parts of me want to beg again or even force her hand onto me, but the strongest part loves struggling for power with this wild creature. “Prove it.” I reach up to finger her folds again as I say this, but her hips jerk back almost immediately.

“Actually, I need a little break,” she mumbles sheepishly, “but thanks.” I cock a sassy eyebrow and she insists, “I can! I’ll show you later.”

“If you say so, baby,” I grin patronizingly.

Johanna’s eyes darken dangerously and she pins my shoulders to the bed. “Oh, you little fucker,” she growls as she lowers her face down to my ear, making my nipples go taut and my skin pull into goose bumps instantly. “You’re really asking for it.”

“Exactly,” I remind her. Those dark pools momentarily burn at the challenge, but then surprisingly relent. The girl refuses to tear her eyes away as she descends my body to smooth her hands over my hipbones. I release a shuddering sigh when her lips follow them, almost too softly. I thought she was about to devour me whole, but maybe she’s trying to go easy on me because I’m new at this. I’m torn between disappointment and relief. I think I’d likely enjoy things rougher, but doing this at all is nerve-wracking enough so I’m okay with waiting to find out another time, assuming there is another time. But because that’s about all I’m okay with waiting for, I wrangle one of Johanna’s hands over and downward. Her eyes swing back up to my face, bright and teasing, but she swipes her thumb up the runway to my clit all the same. Apparently I’m very sensitive right now because I twitch mightily when she gets there. Johanna’s eyebrows flick up, but she doesn’t comment, just softens her touch slightly when she starts up a circular motion, her mouth slowly navigating my thigh crease on its way to join her hand. She presses harder before long, but now I’m used to it again and it doesn’t hurt. It’s perfect. It’s like she knows my body better than I do and has been working it for years. In a more generic sense, I guess that’s true.

Johanna detaches her lips from my skin just after they finally make it to my pubic bone, and before I have time to ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing, she slides her knees out from under her so she’s prone on the bed and ducks her face between my legs. Her tongue darts out to explore my intimate area, and when it probes my already pulsing clit I feel the nub and surrounding muscles spasm as I suck in a noisy gasp. I tangle my hand in the bed sheets again and struggle to keep my tenuous grip on reality while Johanna swirls and flicks her tongue over the swollen and burning bundle of nerves. It isn’t as strong as her fingers but it’s warm and dexterous, and the sensation of her breath on me is a huge turn-on. This feels more intimate somehow, and though it’s different it’s still highly enjoyable.

It seems Johanna has finally had enough teasing, either that or she’s reacting to my heavy breathing and how I’m suddenly embracing her with my legs, because she escalates her tempo almost immediately. I’m feeling the tension just starting to boil in my stomach again when she surprises me by sliding her tongue down my slit to tease my entrance, pushing lightly and circling. My mouth hangs open in a mix of confusion and arousal at this brand new sensation, but I get no chance to get my bearings because she suddenly jumps back up to my clit and sucks it into her mouth. My left hand flies to my lips to suppress the cry I feel trying to climb out of my throat as my hips grind into her mouth without any conscious control on my part. Okay, maybe I like this way better after all – that’s something she definitely can’t do with her hand. Sucking felt good enough elsewhere, but this is a feeling I don’t think I could describe in words even when at my most articulate. Which I’m definitely not right now.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Jo runs her hands up my torso, pinches the sensitive buds and rolls them between her fingers. I arch up off the bed, almost drowning in the pleasure now attacking me from all sides. I think I’m losing my mind, and that’s perfectly welcome considering all that’s been plaguing it since last summer. Johanna starts interspersing the sucks with flutters of her tongue, and I now have to claw at my cheeks in a fight to keep my hand clamped firmly over my mouth because if I don’t, my next family meal is going to be unspeakably awkward. I’ve never been the type to make noise, but maybe it’s different with another person. Or maybe it’s just different with her.

The feeling of my partner’s tongue dipping down to trace the rim of my opening again calls my attention back to a sort of dull, hollow ache inside of me. I barely felt it when she briefly tongued my entrance earlier, but it grows much stronger now as she draws the movement out. When she eventually moves her mouth back up a couple of inches and replaces it with a finger, it occurs to me what she’s working up to, or at least considering. I feel my walls seize up inside me at the thought and a nervous twisting join the arousal in my gut. Not because I don’t trust Johanna, but because I got the impression from the little I learned in school that it can be quite painful the first time. When the other woman slows her finger and catches my eye, I surprise myself.

“Go ahead,” I tell her. I think the most immediate reason I say this is because I know that’s how to alleviate the craving calling out inside of me, but I know my bigger, underlying motive is my desire to feel like I’m hers in every way possible and, indeed, to give myself to her. “Go on. I know you want to.”

Johanna releases my nub from her lips and tilts her head slightly as she cautiously asks me, “But do you want me to?”

“Yes,” I reply as firmly as possible, but I can’t disguise the tinge of hesitance in my tone. Jo blinks doubtfully and doesn’t move. I drop my stoic mask with a gulp and inquire apprehensively, “Is it gonna hurt?” I start to shake almost imperceptibly, but it’s not her fingers that scare me, not really. Allowing her to see my vulnerability is much more frightening than letting her see me naked or even letting her penetrate me physically.

“With how wet you are? Probably not.” Johanna crawls up the mattress and cups one of my cheeks, her gaze tender and serious. “If it does, you can tell me to stop, okay?” she assures me. I nod mutely, and the ferocious victor lowers her face to kiss me with a gentleness I’d never expect from her. I take my time escalating it, but when she lets me past her lips I immediately taste the tang on her tongue that I’m certain wasn’t there before. That’s interesting. “Are you sure?” Johanna asks, pulling away slightly. I nod again but she just lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I answer. “I’m sure.” She smiles and rejoins our lips. This kiss goes on for a while, but I don’t mind because I’m finding that I really like the taste of myself on her tongue, weird as it is. She finally breaks away to kiss a path down my torso, and I can’t help but tense up a little in anticipation.

Jo blinks up from her position over my naval and holds my gaze steadily. “Relax,” she whispers before continuing her journey downward. It’s predictably counterproductive. Johanna really should know me well enough by now to understand that that order is only going to heighten my anxiety. She puts her tongue back to work, and after several minutes of this and nothing else I’m starting to wonder if she changed her mind. Despite my nerves, it’s sort of a disappointment. She might be taking this going easy on me thing a bit too far. I’m just processing this thought when I feel something slip into me and my eyes widen reflexively. She’s right, that didn’t hurt, though it’s a slightly uncomfortable stretch. “Shit, you’re fucking tight, Everdeen,” she remarks. “That’s only one finger.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing at the awkwardness of it all and the pure absurdity of this comment. “Well what did you expect, Mason?” I chuckle, self-consciously wiping the sweat from my forehead. She doesn’t reply, but I feel her lips turn up against my skin. Her finger presses against the aching spot inside of me and I grunt reflexively, which she must take as a good sign because she starts pumping her hand slowly. This is all right. It doesn’t feel as good as her fingers on my clit, but the eroticism of feeling her inside me is powerful in its own way. Jo pulls out almost completely and I brace myself, expecting a second finger, but either I was wrong or she thinks better of it because she resumes her previous actions. She keeps this up for a while, but finally pulls out again and moves both her hands to my breasts, simultaneously speeding up her tongue. I smile to myself. She’s figured out what works for me and wants to send me over the edge. Finally.

Johanna wastes no time taking my clit between her lips and sucking again, her thumbs rubbing over my painfully erect nipples. My hips thrust into her again and I palm her skull with my left hand as she sucks yet harder, and I find myself wishing once more that she had enough hair to tangle my fingers in and get a solid grip. It’s not fair at all. I get a solid grip after all anyway, because my right hand finally releases its hold on the sheets and joins my left when Jo starts working the nub over with her tongue even as it’s trapped in the suction of her lips. A stronger version of what I’m used to feeling starts building deep in the pit of my stomach, albeit much slower than I’d like, and I’m kind of afraid I’ll lose it – that happens to me sometimes on my own. But then my partner’s continued efforts force her to gasp for breath, and a surge of pleasure hits my groin. I take my cue from this and focus on her heavy breathing and occasional surfacing for more air as she soldiers on. My own sounds of pleasure eventually start up again and my nails dig into her scalp, forcing a pained groan out of her that fans the flames between my legs. My hips tremble, only helping Jo’s cause, and very quickly I feel myself ramping up to take flight.

I look down at the girl working so diligently and see her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Not that I want to snap her out of whatever groove she’s in, I need something else from her. “Jo,” I barely choke out. I swallow and manage to say, “Johanna, I’m gonna…”

“Mm, I know,” she murmurs. That alone is almost enough to finish me off. Trying to communicate what I want, I grab a tuff of her sprouting hair and tug a little to direct her eyes up. Once they catch mine, I hold them meaningfully and hope she understands without me having to say it. Telling her I want to look into her eyes as she makes me come just sounds so cheesy. Thankfully, she seems to get it, because she doesn’t break our shared gaze as she speeds her tongue up. It’s actually me who breaks it when she rolls my nipples between her fingers again and my head digs into the pillow, my eyes rolling back along with it. Johanna pauses for a second and then I feel her mouth leave its position, quickly replaced by one of her hands. She leaves a trail of kisses from my collarbone to my jaw, prompting me to tip my head forward and catch her eyes again. They twinkle as she pecks me on the lips a few times, a gesture I’m a bit too far-gone to reciprocate at the moment. She doesn’t seem to mind.

Johanna’s breathing quickens along with her hand and it suddenly occurs to me that her body is within my reach again, so I eagerly lift a hand to repay her efforts. She doesn’t pull away, so she must feel up to it again now. I’m glad, because the sight of her eyes screwing shut and the sound of the quiet moan she lets loose just inches from my ear spike my arousal in a way nothing she can do to me can. My hips start to shake again and her eyes open just a slit, staring for a brief moment before she pecks my lips once more and drops her head beside mine.

“Fuck, Katniss,” she breathes directly into my ear, only increasing the tension in my belly. She’s close enough that it doesn’t matter now that she’s suppressing most of her noises; I can hear all of them anyway, and they cull more from me in reaction. Her fingers speed up and I can feel my pleasure starting to spread through my body and hear my moans growing louder despite my efforts to hold them in. I’m losing control.

“I’m close,” I warn Johanna, who groans her approval into my ear. “I’m really fucking close.” She groans louder this time but forces her head up to meet my eyes. Hers are unrelenting and brimming with intensity and purpose, and I dig the nails of my left hand into her shoulder blade again at the sight and struggle to suppress the noise trying to fight its way out of me. My working hand finally gives out as Jo presses on, and she’s suddenly lifting her left hand to my mouth. I think she’s going to smother my screams herself until I realize she’s offering up the flesh on the pinky side of her palm. I bite down on it greedily and release my sounds of ecstasy into the makeshift gag.

Johanna grunts painfully but perseveres with her fingers, and suddenly I’m tumbling headlong into mind-numbing pleasure and screaming into her palm. Spasms rumble through me in waves and afflict everything from my jaw to my toes along the way, and as they ebb out I’m slowly released into a state of dazed tranquility. I can barely think, let alone worry – my whole world just feels calm like the placid surface of the lake back home. It contrasts starkly with the heavenly euphoria still pulsing out from my groin. Jo’s fingers are still working there, but softly and much slower. As I regain control enough to direct my gaze back to her, I see her studying my expression meticulously. She must be encouraged by what she sees there when she adds a smidgen of pressure that sears through the calm to rekindle the fire, because she suddenly amplifies both pressure and speed dramatically, leaving me little time to prepare before a second orgasm explodes in her hand. I use the resulting jolt of flexion in my abs to snap my torso up off the bed and sink my teeth into the meat of her shoulder to muffle my cry of shock and pleasure.

I’m in such a stupor, I barely notice Johanna lowering me onto my back a moment later, but I do register her laugh. It’s not a mocking one, though; it sounds oddly good-natured by her standards. I manage to sort of focus my eyes on the girl, which only increases her volume, and before I know it I’m joining in. I don’t know why I’m laughing, just that I haven’t felt lighter in ages and there’s no reason not to. I raise a trembling hand to trace her lips, lost in one of her rare genuine smiles. My thumb slips a little just after it rounds the corner of her mouth, sending me into a fresh round of giggles.

“I think you have something on your face,” I inform her, not even bothering to try to keep a straight face.

Jo’s eyes narrow playfully. “And whose fault is that?”

I want to continue the banter but can’t think of a comeback, so instead I slide my elbows under me and prop myself up to kiss her. We’ve barely made contact before I swipe my tongue along her lip to slurp up the sheen under it, then nip it and pull back. “Better,” I declare. Johanna’s eyes are suddenly huge with surprise and arousal, so I knock an arm out from underneath her and flip her onto her back. I roll my tongue in my mouth, savoring the flavor of myself and the memory of how it came to be on her lips, which now just makes me want to return the favor and get a taste of her.

Still not in a mood for teasing, I don’t bother kissing down Johanna’s body. I shuffle down the mattress a bit, ease her legs further apart and lie down between them. Once I’ve got a grip on her hipbones, I finally take the time to look up again, finding her jaw slack and eyes still wide open. “Unfinished business,” I explain.

She licks and bites her lower lip. “You don’t have to finish me off,” she replies hesitantly. Her acting skills aren’t top notch at the moment.

“I want to,” I rebut straight away. “Besides, I’m a kinesthetic learner.” Her eyes narrow at the unfamiliar word and I roll my eyes. “I learn things by doing. Mentor.” I dip my tongue into her without further argument and immediately decide that this is my new favorite taste. Forget cheese buns and lamb stew. I do a quick mental inventory of Jo’s repertoire as I stroke my tongue up her runway, and settle on fluttering as my first offensive. I’m probably overthinking this.

She’s already wound up and it takes me very little time and effort to get her writhing and grabbing my hair and babbling nonsensical phrases. I grin, partly because I’m enjoying making her feel good but also because I love making this indomitable woman fall to pieces. I slide two fingers into her as I wrap my lips around her nub and apply as much suction as I can manage considering I’m also trying to breathe. How Johanna did this for so long without passing out for lack of oxygen is beyond me. Her heels dig into my back and egg me on, spurring my tongue into action to the soundtrack of her pleasure. She’s muffling it with a wavering hand and I suppose I should be worried that someone will hear us, but I kind of want to hear her scream. I push that desire aside for the sake of long-term consequences and stretch my free hand up to cover her mouth for her. Her quaking thighs try to tighten around my head while her pelvis starts thrusting up into me, and from there it takes only moments of flicking and sucking to make her crush my fingers and soak my chin. I remove my hand from her mouth and settle for listening to her somewhat quieter sounds of recovery. Having learned my lesson earlier, I bring her down slowly this time with languid, swirling licks.

When she finally quiets down and sort of pats my head as a signal she’s had enough, I wipe my mouth on her inner thigh and crawl up her body. I take in her hooded eyes and open mouth and smirk proudly, circling a finger around one of her pebbled nipples. There’s something so satisfying about satisfying her.

Jo shakes herself out of her haze and laughs in disbelief. “Shit, Everdeen. You sure you’re a virgin?”

I grin ear-to-ear at the implied compliment and make a slight correction. “Was.”

We don’t stop after that. I never want to stop, but I know practicality will eventually win out. I try not to think about that as I, some time and several orgasms later, am on my knees straddling Jo’s thigh and rubbing her clit furiously. She’s reciprocating just as passionately from beneath me, kissing me desperately as we drive each other closer to the edge. The kissing becomes more difficult as her breath starts catching, but that only spurs my hand on more. A barely-stifled moan comes out in response and she too somehow manages to increase her speed even further, the combination of which makes my mind fog, my legs tremble, and my whole crotch throb.

I won’t last much longer, but from the contortions of Johanna’s face and her quickly escalating sounds of pleasure, I know she won’t either. I bury my face in her neck and force myself to keep going despite the burning cramps in my hand and arm. The pain is somehow arousing in and of itself, but it’s almost reaching the point of crippling now. Johanna squirms underneath me, pushing her hips up into my hand and digging the fingers of her free hand into my back. I begin to rock my hips on her hand in response, but once started the action becomes automatic as some kind of animal impulse takes over. I start gasping out ragged moans as I approach my climax, but despite how turned on I am, my hand begins to falter a little. Johanna must notice even more than I do, because she slaps my ass and starts berating me.

“Come on, push through it!” she hisses. “Don’t you dare stop. Don’t be a fucking pussy!” Her words and the tone behind them give me an extra surge of both energy and arousal, and Johanna’s breathing becomes quicker and louder along with mine. She grabs my hair and holds my ear to her mouth so I don’t miss any of it. “That’s right,” she gasps, “keep going, we’re almost there.” I can only moan in response. I don’t know how she can manage to talk right now when I couldn’t possibly form words, let alone a sentence, but it’s hot as hell. Her hips suddenly jerk against my hand and I immediately duck my head to catch her moan in my mouth. The sound and feel of her coming pushes me over right behind her and I echo the sound back into her throat. I collapse half on her and half on the bed seconds later, extremities twitching like I’m being swallowed by poison fog.

We lie there in contented silence for a minute or two, our only movements soft caresses of fingers over sweaty skin. Now that we’re both recovering together, there’s no frustration on the part of the giver and no desire on the part of the receiver to reciprocate out of… what? Revenge? Gratitude? Arousal? It’s some mix of all three. Johanna regains her ability to speak first and lets out a throaty chortle. “I told you I could multitask,” she brags. My brain is still buzzing and mostly non functional, but I manage a laugh. My partner scoops an arm under my ribcage and pulls me closer. “Come here,” she mumbles. I shift my weight obediently, throwing an arm and a leg over her and resting my head on her chest. I still don’t speak, though I think I probably could now. I’m satisfied just listening to her pounding heart as it slows not an inch beneath my ear. I draw absentminded patterns over Johanna’s ribs while she pulls the top sheet and blankets up and tucks them around my shoulders. I don’t remember how or when we got under them.

When my mind starts returning to me, I lift my head to peek at the digital clock on the dresser. I groan. It’s a lot later than I thought, well into bathing time. We’ve literally been going at it for hours.

“What?”

“I really need a shower before lights out,” I say, extricating myself from the pile of flesh and bedding and dropping to my feet.

“Oh, really? Why’s that?” I turn around to see Johanna sitting up and smirking, eyebrow cocked. She very brazenly takes in an eyeful of my naked body and teases, “Someone give you a good workout?”

“Mm. The best.” I lean forward and capture her lips with my own. She grants my tongue access to her mouth and I lead us in a languid kiss, slowly running my fingers from her cheekbone down to her clavicle. I bring my hand to rest above her breasts and start to push away, but then suddenly get an idea. I may have a mostly well-deserved reputation of being a prude, but it’s not like I never listened to anything anybody ever said about this sort of thing. “Do you want to come with?”

Johanna’s eyes light up and she starts to shift her weight to hop off the bed, but then they seem to cloud over and her jaw slackens. She blinks and lowers herself back down, suddenly very interested in my blankets. “Actually, I’m good. But thanks.” A shudder runs through her, and I stand there blankly for a few seconds, baffled by her sudden transformation. What is she so afraid of? The answer hits me like a ton of bricks. Or, more fittingly, like a coil of wire to the head. She’s afraid. She’s actually afraid. The why is still a mystery, but the what is painfully obvious. I really am brainless.

“But you ran in the rain.” The words escape my mouth before I have a chance to phrase them any better.

She turns her face back to me and shame is written all over it. Her breathing has sped up and become a bit labored, too. She shakes her head. “After the lightning strike, I’m not sure that I could. Besides, that was different. I had to force myself to do that if I wanted to get to the Capitol and kill that mother fucker.” She runs her eyes over me again, longingly this time. “Trust me, I’d love to. And maybe I could make myself. But it’s not something I would enjoy, and that’s kind of the point.”

When she directs her gaze back to my eyes, I see the tears threatening to spill out. One does when she swallows hard and blinks. I instinctively lean forward and catch it with my thumb, cupping her face. I kiss her because that’s what I do – I kiss away pain when I am at a loss for how else to help. She responds with a close-mouthed peck and pulls back. “It’s okay. You go.” I open my mouth to argue, but there’s nothing I can really say. “Katniss, please. Don’t let me drag you down.” She fights to put a smirk back on her face. “Just because I smell like a teenage boy doesn’t mean you have to. In fact, I’d rather you don’t.” I can clearly see her trembling lip, but I can also see the pleading in her eyes to just let it go. I nod and kiss her chastely once more. “Just let me use the bathroom first,” she quickly adds. “I have to… clean up a little.” I smirk at the way she phrased that. It’s not like she needs to speak in euphemisms – the evidence of the mess between her legs is all over my hand. I can still taste it.

Lights out is pretty soon and I consider jumping in the shower while she’s doing her wipe down routine, but I don’t want to risk spooking her, so I stay put and occupy myself by weighing the pros and cons of asking what happened to her that made her afraid of something so innocuous as water. I’d assume they probably all but drowned her, but I can’t be sure because, if Peeta is any indication, the perversion and cruelty of their captors knows no bounds. I think knowing the specifics might make it easier for me to help her, and that was indeed reason enough for me to inquire about the possibility of seizures after her flashback, but asking about something that’s brought on emotional rather than physical trauma seems much more risky and insensitive. I ultimately decide to just let Johanna explain when she’s ready.

When she comes out of the bathroom several minutes later, I draw her into my arms and kiss her softly but passionately, slowly working my way into her mouth with my tongue. I run my hands up and down the strong muscles of her back, trying to will some of that same strength into her mind. I hate seeing her so vulnerable, even though the fact that she is willing to let me witness it is a compliment and a privilege. I pull back slowly and rest my forehead against hers. Her eyes meet mine and I promise, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” she smiles suggestively. I roll my eyes. Even if I thought it were possible for me to come any more at the moment, I’d be wasting my time given my greatest desire is just to be back in her arms as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I encounter another delay in the form of my tears once I’m under the hot spray and the crushing thoughts start piling on. How could I have been so stupid? No one refuses to use showers just because they’re not used to them, but somehow I let myself believe that bullshit story. I should have known something was wrong when she froze on the way outside when we had that storm, when was crying in the rain, when she jumped out of that puddle like it was acid.

…The puddle I put her in.

I rush to finish this shower that’s turning out to be anything but relaxing, and when I emerge I find Johanna in her own bed. I start to wonder if she’s actually mad at me, but she promptly explains, “I don’t want to sleep in that bed, it’s all gross and sweaty now.” She pulls back the covers for me to slide in with her. I open my drawer to procure my sleeping clothes and she arches an eyebrow. “Shy all of a sudden?”

“I get cold,” I retort half-heartedly as I pull the top over my head. “Not everybody likes to take all their clothes off at every possible opportunity, you know.” I step into the pants and try to glare playfully, but I can’t even produce fake hostility toward her right now.

Johanna swallows and drops her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says.

“Like what?” I reply, far more peppy than necessary. 

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” she grumbles. “I don’t need you babying me.” A muscle twitches in her jaw and she spits out, “And it’s really fucking embarrassing.” I was not expecting that.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Johanna,” I hazard, taking a cautious step forward, but she shakes her head.

“They broke me,” she mumbles deploringly.

“They broke me too,” I parry immediately. “And Peeta and Annie. They broke all of us.” My mouth curls into a mischievous smirk. “You’re nothing special, trust me.” Johanna smiles weakly at my joke but still won’t look me in the eye. I want to reach out for her, but I have a feeling she’d eschew all comforting gestures at the moment. Instead, I take the heat off her. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed,” I offer.

Jo’s brow crinkles and she props herself up on her elbow. “Why?” she asks, studying my face.

“Because I should have known. And because I-” My voice catches. “I held you down. In that puddle.”

Anguish flashes through those gleaming brown eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came and she waves me off. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. And I went to lengths to hide it from you, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“It’s not okay,” I say to the ground, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“It’s over, and we can’t change it now,” Johanna reminds me. She ducks her head, trying to force me back into eye contact. “So we might as well get on with things. Remember?” I do remember. That’s the one piece of advice she’s taken from her head doctor appointments. Other than not censoring her thoughts, which was never a problem for her anyway. I nod in reply and step closer to press a kiss to her lips. I really should work on my verbal communication. In the meantime, she’s not complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but it will probably be another long wait for an update because I've been spending almost all of my free time writing and I need a break, plus I am dying to update Loyalty. I hope this tides everyone over until then.
> 
> Big shout out as usual to my wonderful beta D7P for pushing me past even my usual perfectionism and not being afraid to piss me off in doing so.


	11. A Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting while I posted a couple updates on Loyalty and decompressed a bit. This one's short but sweet, and those of you who love your fluff will be pleased. Enjoy :)

I don’t know how I got so lucky. This tiny, beautiful girl is curled up in my arms and snoozing tranquilly, like it’s the safest place in the world. I know from experience that that’s the furthest thing from the truth, but feeling like I bring her at least some sense of security makes my heart soar. I woke up maybe ten minutes ago, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to rouse Johanna yet. It’s rather tempting, considering she’s still naked. I’ve settled for tracing the fingers of my free hand over her ribs and up and down her arm. My right arm is stuck under her and I don’t want to chance moving it while she’s sleeping.

I lean back from dusting a few kisses on her shoulder and get an eyeful of bruising along with the disturbing scarring. When she first made me come – the second time, really – I evidently clamped down very close to where I did while Mom was disinfecting my hand wound. There are some more marks from our further endeavors, but those two stand out the most. Of course, I made sure to keep them all off the neck and out of plain sight, assuming that Johanna is wearing clothes. Which, to be fair, is a pretty big assumption. I only realize my fingers have stilled when she stirs and sleepily whines, “Don’t stop.”

My enthralled but serious features crack into a smile. “How long have you been awake?”

“I’m not awake,” she grumbles.

“Oh, no?” I lean forward and lick a streak up from under her ear. “I can fix that,” I breathe, flicking her earlobe with my tongue. She groans and squirms in my arms, but otherwise doesn’t respond. I know I’m winning, though. I suck her earlobe into my mouth, making her head tip back and another groan escape her throat.

She shudders and whimpers, “Katniss,” and I know I have her beat. She rolls her eyes and lets out a guttural sound of irritation, but she also rolls and shuffles in my embrace so she can bury her face in my neck. I almost think she’s hoping to pass out again until I feel her tongue lazily massaging a patch of skin above my clavicle, but I still lose patience with her. I pinch some sprouts of hair over her forehead and yank on them, forcing her lips up and onto mine.

The little noises and puffs of breath Jo releases in the ensuing series of sluggish kisses make it feel passionate despite the fact that she’s still half asleep. But then, Johanna Mason makes everything feel passionate. Perhaps that’s why I am especially drawn to her these days, since the destruction of my home and the start of the war. I’ve had so little passion of my own since coming here, or at least until she whipped back my curtain that day, plunked down on my bed and made me feel something. Pain in my ribs, anger and guilt in my brain, stirring in my soul.

Johanna eventually pulls away and flops onto her back, yawning and stretching her limbs out as far as they will go. When her arms drop to her sides, her left shoulder is in plain view again and the stupidest grin crawls onto my face. Jo’s eyes catch this and narrow. “What?” she demands.

“I left you another souvenir,” I admit, scratching at the start of a blush on my neck.

She peeks over and spies the second bite mark, grins slyly. She turns on her side again and tips her head down toward the mattress, exposing the other shoulder to me. I lick my lips hungrily even before she purrs out her invitation. “Wanna give me a matching set?” My face and stomach suddenly drop as my mind flashes back to an even higher voice saying something very similar. To the faces of Darius and the redheaded avox girl. “What?” Jo asks with obvious concern.

“Nothing,” I lie. My eyes flit away from hers, landing on her ribcage and a scar I haven’t seen before. It’s noticeable but not in the most conspicuous location, tucked under her arm.

Jo notices my stare and follows it, her eyes widening slightly as she realizes what I’m fixated on. “Oh,” she mutters, lifting her arm to give us both a better view. She points to another one, only inches from the first, and explains, “Entry wounds.” I feel my mouth slowly slipping open as I try to digest this. How can she even be alive? “Not bullets, brainless,” she clarifies, interrupting my thought process. “Electrical current.”

My stomach churns painfully. It feels like its full of rocks. But I guess I asked for this when I undressed her. Sucker for punishment I am, I lean in a little for a better look. They do sort of look like burn scars, upon closer examination. My stomach rumbles again, this time audibly.

“Hungry?” Johanna smiles with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“No,” I immediately answer. That’s not true at all, but I think I’m too sick to my stomach to eat. “I mean, yes, but…” Her salacious grin makes me trail off.

“I’ll give you something to eat,” she declares.

“What?” I ask, blinking dumbly.

Jo’s expression transforms into that infuriating one where I know she’s thinking about how cute and clueless I am. I want to kiss it right off her face. “So naïve,” she chuckles, confirming my suspicion. “You know, eating out? Eating pussy?” She’s not talking about cats, is she? “That thing you like doing with your mouth?” She flicks her tongue repeatedly over her front teeth at high speed, sending heat straight to my face. And other parts, too.

“Oh,” I mumble, otherwise lost for words. I swallow and try to regain control over my own body, though that’s quite frankly a rather useless endeavor in Johanna’s presence. It betrays me again immediately as my stomach growls even louder than before, accompanied by pangs of physical hunger now in addition to the mental anguish. Jo grins and I chuckle sheepishly. “I’m fucking starving, honestly.”

“Sex will do that to you,” she informs me, like I hadn’t figured that out for myself. Typical.

I let this this latest moment of condescension roll off my back and simply muse, “Too bad we can’t claim it as extra physical activity to increase our food rations.”

Johanna laughs. “We could try,” she smirks conspiratorially. “Can you imagine?”

“I think so,” I smirk devilishly. I roll onto my back and squeal in an obnoxiously high tone, “Excuse me, President Fuckface, but I’m fucking your precious mockingjay. Would you mind raising our fucking caloric allowances so we don’t fuck ourselves into oblivion?” I turn my head a little so I can see the satisfying glare coming from Johanna.

“I do not sound like that,” she asserts.

I grin and shrug, “If you say so.”

“Fine, then. I’ll be you.” She drops her pitch to a deep baritone and rumbles, “Excuse me, Madame President, I demand yet another concession to your micromanaging regulations. I know it was such a pain to let my sister keep her squeaking little fleabag.”

Straining to keep a straight face, I coldly rejoin, “We have strict rules. No pussy for you, Soldier Everdeen.”

Johanna stares at me for a second, mouth steadily opening. “Did you just make a pussy joke?” I grin smugly, and she dissolves into incredulous giggles. “No pussy,” she chokes out. “Fuck, Everdeen.” I join in her mirth, breaking into throaty laughter. It feels wonderful. We may not be far away from District Thirteen or the war, but I could stand waking up like this for as long as we have left before the invasion. My hand starts mindlessly roaming Jo’s arm again, and it takes me a moment to notice her stare. “I like your laugh,” she tells me.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, running her eyes down to the top of the blanket and then back up to my face. “It’s sexy.”

“You’re sexy,” I counter, moving my hand under the blanket to land on her torso. I drag my fingers down her silky skin, pulling a whimper from her lips. Not that I could have resisted anyway, I take this as my cue to roll forward and push her flat onto her back. I give her a cheeky wink and lower my lips to her cleavage, leaving a line of kisses leading toward her stomach and beyond.

“That’s no fair,” Jo whines. I only understand that she means because she’s naked and I’m not when I feel her hands caressing my back through my sleep shirt.

“You’re the one who chose to sleep naked,” I point out between pecks, steadily approaching her naval. I’m almost there when the lights come on. I continue my progress onto her lower abdomen anyway, happy to ignore it.

Johanna clears her throat and ventures, “Speaking of food…”

“No, no, no,” I groan into her skin.

“You need to eat,” she says firmly. I cock an eyebrow and she specifies, “Food.” I pout theatrically, making her laugh and ruffle my hair affectionately. “Let’s blow off training instead.”

“No, we already blew off studying last night,” I argue, propping myself up on my elbows. “And Soldier York has to recommend us for the exam, so we can’t just not show up.”

“Fuck Soldier York,” she scoffs.

I snort. “No, thank you.”

Johanna grins evilly and sits up, pulling my face up to hers and consequently forcing me into a kneeling position straddling her legs. “I thought you had a thing for older women,” she teases into my mouth.

I peck her on the lips. “I just have a thing for you,” I confess. I feel another blush coming on, so I shift my weight to exit the bed. “Come on, let’s go.” I don’t get far before Jo grabs my shirt and pulls me back in for a deeper kiss. I guess me wearing clothes isn’t so unfair to her after all. I respond enthusiastically for several seconds before pulling away slightly and reminding her, “I thought you wanted to go get breakfast.”

“Mmm,” she recalls, “so I did.”

“Did I distract you?” I grin, trailing a finger down her spine.

“Maybe,” she admits. She jerks her head to her left, into the room. “Come on, then.” She smacks my butt as a prompt to get moving. I don’t mind. I hop down from the bed and peel my shirt off. I’m standing up from picking my bra up off the floor when I feel her eyes burning into my flesh and automatically look up. She’s sitting with her legs hanging off the bed, leering shamelessly. No surprise there.

I shake my head and chuckle. “Pervert.”

***

I realized during training that there actually was a favor I could ask of our president that wouldn’t involve disclosing my extracurricular activities. Johanna and I haven’t talked about it, but we seem to be in silent accord that we don’t want our involvement going public. It’s also just not something I’m comfortable discussing with Alma Coin.

It was a difficult morning, standing so close to Johanna and not being able to show her any kind of affection, physical or otherwise. It wasn’t even the secrecy thing; I just didn’t want to embarrass myself. I’ve realized since that slip up at dinner last night that there’s a huge glaring reason why Kearns and Foligno get on my nerves so much. I’m always most irritated by others when they echo behaviors of mine that I’m not proud of. That’s admittedly one of the reasons Johanna rubbed me the wrong way early on. She, meanwhile, was not helping. She was giving me the eyes all morning, purposely driving me insane. The Block was a little better because we had more to think about to otherwise occupy ourselves, but the only thing that got me through the morning was all the physical exertion in the form of fitness drills. It took the edge off my sexual energy, at least. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that that would be something I’d have to worry about, not until she came along.

The meeting in Command I was slated for later this afternoon was not especially interesting, but it was kind of a welcome reprieve from all of that nonsense, and a good chance to refocus. When I could stubbornly keep my mind from lapsing back to last night’s adventures, at least. I can’t be jeopardizing my chance to go to the Capitol because of Johanna, so I need to pay attention and allot my time appropriately. However, I’m pretty sure we’re both in good enough physical condition now that our morning workouts aren’t necessary on the daily to keep us in shape for the physical part of the exam. But like I said to Jo, we can’t just not show up when we have to impress Soldier York. That’s why I’m lingering in Command while most of the higher ups file out. When Boggs is the only one left hovering over the president’s shoulder, I approach. “President Coin?”

“What is it, Soldier?” Coin looks up from the papers they are poring over, wearing a warm expression by her standards. It relaxes me a little as I rehearse my calculated words one more time in my head.

“I know it’s been awhile since I’ve used the hunting privileges I requested,” I hazard, “but I want to confirm that they’re still available to me.”

The president’s eyebrows jump, her mouth quirking wryly. “I think ‘demanded’ is more the operative word, Everdeen,” she smirks, leaning back in her chair. “I wouldn’t dream of taking them away for fear of having you abandon your mission.”

“I wouldn’t!” I snap. The implication that I don’t care about the rebellion and would sabotage it over something trivial makes my cheeks and ears light up. “Even after Peeta warned us about the bombing, I’m still concerned he’d be tried as a traitor if I backed out,” I retort pointedly.

A small smile crawls onto Coin’s lips. “Fair point,” she replies, seemingly impressed. “You are, of course, still free to take up to two hours a day out of your training time to hunt. But with your recent level of commitment to training, all the time and energy you’ve spent preparing for the Capitol invasion, this is quite a radical shift in priorities for you. I wouldn’t want to see you waste your efforts.” She actually sounds a little concerned. And she’s not wrong, of course. That’s my biggest worry when it comes to Johanna and me.

“I don’t feel it would be a waste,” I say to reassure myself as much as Coin. I’m not asking because I want to get busy with Johanna in the woods, though I’m not opposed to the idea. I mostly just want to sit in the sunlight with her, consort in the actual world and not just in this rabbit’s warren, as she puts it, that doesn’t really feel like reality. More importantly, I want to help her and increase her chances of being able to accompany me to the Capitol and get her revenge. I remember how restorative it was for me to be out in nature again, to sit on that rock in the ruins and just exist beside that rushing river. That part in particular might not restore Johanna’s sanity so much, but as much as she complained about being associated with trees, I’m sure being among them would help.

“It’s up to you, of course,” Coin replies, “but I didn’t think you still found the hunting necessary. It was primarily for your mental health, which seems to have improved, and we are no longer in short supply of meat, with District Ten in hand.”

“It’s Johanna’s mental health I’m concerned about now,” I explain. “I’m sure the two of you are well-informed about the things she went through in the Capitol and the problems she’s been having since then.”

The two of them share a look and a moment of uncertain silence before Boggs asks, “You want to bring Mason with you now?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “That’s the other thing I wanted to ask.”

Coin only considers this for a few seconds before concluding, “I don’t have a problem with that, so long as she also accepts that these outings can only take place during her allotted training time.” She looks up at Boggs. “Do you?”

“No,” he wavers, “not as long as they tell their instructors where they’re going, so there’s no confusion.” He catches my eye. “I’m still concerned about Mason, but Katniss has taken good care of her so far.” If only he knew just how good. I try to contain my smirk. “They haven’t caused any trouble, yet,” he adds with a loaded gaze. I guess that depends on one’s definition of trouble.

Coin turns back my way and holds eye contact sternly. “Same rules. Tracker anklets, quarter-mile radius, kills to the kitchen. And without Hawthorne’s company, one of you will have to wear a communicuff. I’ll make a note for the soldiers in the armory to provide you with one.”

I know all of this monitoring technology, as annoying and restricting as it is, is supposedly for my protection, but I still can’t help but roll my eyes a little. Not just because I’m vexed by the implication that I need supervision, but also because I know it will have to be me wearing the damn communicuff. Assuming they let us take our specialty weapons, Jo’s wrists will be occupied.

“Works for me,” I shrug, not bothering to hide my mild annoyance.

Coin purses her lips and curtly replies, “Good. You are dismissed, Soldier.”

***

Maybe I shouldn’t have been worried about Johanna being too much of a distraction, because we do end up studying tonight. Naked, albeit, but it’s progress. I’m resting supine on Jo’s bed, her pillow and one arm tucked under my head to prop it up a little, and she’s lying back against me, holding one of our books above her face. She’s quizzing me on military terminology, but I may be more focused on the goose bumps rising on her skin as I ghost my fingers over her upper arm. But I already insisted we study during Reflection – because I had a feeling we wouldn’t get much done once we got back from dinner and had longer than half an hour of uninterrupted alone time – so I figure we’re doing pretty well.

Our time hasn’t even been all that uninterrupted or alone, actually. Mom and Prim are both working this evening, and around the time we returned to our compartment, Buttercup started mewling loudly and incessantly from next door. Despite my objections, Johanna insisted on rescuing him from his loneliness. Maybe it’s no problem for her, exhibitionist she is, but I found it a little more difficult to get off with a cat casting me judgmental glares from across the room. He’s still sitting on my bed, flicking his tail and looking on distastefully.

“Katniss?” Johanna calls, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“Huh?” I blink over to see her squinting at me over her shoulder.

“Where are you?”

I jerk my head over toward the cat and observe, “I don’t think he enjoyed the show.” As if on cue, his glower deepens and he emits a peeved growl and hiss.

“That’s almost insulting,” muses Johanna. She sends an exaggerated glare right back at him and points out, “You’re the one who wanted company, big guy. Beggars can’t be choosers.” Buttercup drops his gaze to the bed and silently kneads the blankets under his front paws. Jo turns back to me with a huge grin, like she’s thoroughly proud of herself for winning an argument with a cat, and asks, “What was that you said about no pussy?”

I snort and motion at the door. “If you wanna go out there and put him back in their compartment, be my guest.” I know this is a mistake the instant I say it, even before Jo smirks at the challenge and starts to push herself up off the mattress. “No!” I protest, latching on to her arm and yanking her back down.

She lands facedown on me, more roughly than necessary, and smiles innocently. “You have a problem with that?” she teases. “I thought you liked it when I took my clothes off in public.”

“That was back when that was my only opportunity to see you take them off,” I argue. “And I don’t want anyone else seeing you naked.” I don’t realize how insane this sounds until it’s left my lips, but when I do, my cheeks immediately flare up. We’d barely even kissed before yesterday, let alone admit to any feelings for each other, and suddenly I’m demanding exclusive rights to someone as stunning and elusive as Johanna Mason, demanding she change her behavior for me? That hardly seems reasonable. I’ve always been told love is unreasonable, though.

Johanna’s lips are parted in surprise at my outburst, but she doesn’t look any more offended than usual, so that’s a good sign. She eventually shuts her mouth and quirks it sassily. “My, my, so possessive,” she drawls, her bedroom eyes back in full force. They lose their intensity a little bit as she drags them up and down my face, biting her lip. “That’s actually kinda hot.”

I exaggerate a smirk to cover my relief, and crane my neck to reach her relatively unmarked shoulder with my teeth. She growls viscerally at my touch, causing a rush of arousal to seep out onto my suddenly burning intimate area. I release her shoulder from my mouth in favor of attacking her lips. I claw at her flesh with my nails, pulling her even tighter to me than gravity dictates while she responds with equal vigor and moves her hands to molest the front and sides of my torso. She nudges the book off the bed in the process, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Buttercup startle dramatically at the sound of it hitting the floor. I guess he thinks he’s the only one allowed to knock things to the ground for fun. He takes a look at us, huffs, and jumps to the floor. I can hear him padding down to the living area while our mouths get more aggressive and our hands more frantic.

Johanna’s thigh starts grinding between mine within moments, and suddenly the cat is the furthest thing from my mind. I can’t think at all, actually, but my right leg wraps around her thighs of its own volition and starts pulling in rhythm with her thrusting, rocking her harder and harder against me. My breathing and volume are both in the process of picking up when she suddenly stills her leg and lifts her head. My lips try to follow hers, but she moves out of reach, so I just drop my head to the pillow and glare impatiently.

The older victor swallows, her eyes briefly flickering. I narrow my eyes inquisitively, so she explains, “I wanna try something.” I blink silently, not sure why she felt the need to stop over that. “I mean, _I’ve_ done it before, but… I don’t want to push you.” Her concern makes me smile, but it’s unnecessary. There’s something she doesn’t understand.

“I’ll try just about anything, if it’s with you,” I declare, and then immediately wish I’d thought that through first, much like my earlier statement about her nudity. But before I have time to analyze that fear any further, Johanna’s lips are on mine again and proving it unnecessary. Her breathing quickens and she rips her mouth away, pushing herself upright and starting to waddle up my body on her shins. When she moves her palms to the wall in front of her, making way for her knees, I understand what she wants.

My mouth is already watering, but despite my own eagerness, I take my time. I gently cup her backside and get an eyeful of her glistening folds, and I can’t help but lick my lips while I lift my head a smidgen to make contact. I touch my tongue high on her leg and trace it up to her thigh crease, then drag it along the inside of her outer lip. Feeling her involuntary shudder, I look up playfully and pass my tongue just in front of her hood on the way to the other side. She moans deliciously in frustration. “Please,” she whimpers. I don’t answer, just start lacing kisses down her inner thigh.

I continue this tantalizing dance around the edge of her most sensitive parts for a few minutes, listening proudly to the growing desperation in her breaths as she subtly spreads her knees wider to lower herself closer to me. She doesn’t beg again, but that’s fine by me. I want to make her give in, but it’s not her words I want, not this time. She eventually groans and moves a hand down to palm my cheek and nudge my face upward, but I swat it away. That’s better, but not good enough. I’m almost the one to give in when I feel a dribble of liquid hit the hollow of my throat and I realize where it came from. My eyes roll back in their sockets, but I force my mouth to stay on the border despite the intoxicating scent enticing me to bury my face between her legs. I catch her eye instead and throw her a knowing wink.

“Fucking prick,” Johanna growls, at long last grabbing my head and shoving my mouth onto her. I smile into her crotch and finally let my tongue trace its contours. I like making her give in, but I also like her using force to control me, as it turns out. I probably would like things rough after all. She’s had enough waiting and is already rocking her hips a little to create more friction, and I don’t resist. She threads her fingers into my hair and grasps one of the cavities in the wall to her left for support while I tighten my grip on her ass and speed up my tongue.

I have the most incredible view. Her heaving chest, the way her head tilts back as the pressure in her core mounts, the strain on her face as she struggles to hold in her exclamations of pleasure. I can’t help it; I start to suck. I want to make her scream, and can only wish she could fully let the sound out. Even with our next-door neighbors gone, there are still plenty of other people nearby who could hear us if we weren’t careful. But I am not one to let long-term consequences influence my impulses, as my ribs can attest to, so I tip my chin down a little to make some room and then slide three fingers inside her without warning.

Johanna lets out a howl of pleasure and starts grinding desperately on my face, smearing it with fragrant slickness. It sends shockwaves to my groin, and I unconsciously start rubbing my thighs together to get some kind of pressure there. The wait is killing me, and if I could reach myself with my arm looped over her thigh, I would. All the more reason to finish her off quickly. Breathing is becoming an issue, but I bear down and suck and rub and thrust with no regard for oxygen. It pays off just as my lungs are starting to scream at me, and I shoot my free hand up to clamp over Johanna’s mouth just as she’s about to scream too. She bucks violently for a few seconds and then collapses forward against the wall, sucking in air almost as needily as I am. My thumb only takes over for a few seconds before I catch my breath enough to put my tongue back to work, greedily licking her sex like it’s the spoon Peeta uses to mix his cookie batter. Still not satisfied once she and my lips are clean, I slip my index finger into my mouth to suck off the sweet nectar.

I hear an aroused groan from above and flick my eyes up to see Jo gawking. “Do you have to do that?” she whines.

I let my finger pop free, brow furrowing. “Do what?” I ask genuinely. She groans again and lowers herself down to rest partially on me and partially on her right side, then surprises me by taking my ring finger in her mouth. My eyes pop open and my heartbeat suddenly finds its way between my legs at the suction of her lips and the circling of her tongue around the digit. Wow, if this feels this erotic on a finger, I can see why guys like it other places. Oh, gross, why am I even thinking about that? I want to taste more of Johanna, but I like the feeling so much that I let her suck my middle finger clean too, though when she’s done I immediately pull her in for a kiss so she can share the wealth. It’s mere seconds before I remember something and break away to tell her, “You missed a spot.”

She eyes me quizzically, so I point to my neck. Her eyes drop to it and suddenly grow. “Oh,” she mumbles, a rare blush invading her creamy skin. “That’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s hot,” I argue immediately, my voice betraying more incredulity than I meant it to.

Johanna grins at that admission but doesn’t comment on it, just makes a show of flicking her tongue down over my throat and then sucking gently. I groan quietly and involuntarily, moving my hand to her crown and obsessively petting the soft, short locks on her scalp back and forth. She applies more light suction in a few choice spots on her way back up, setting me squirming and squeezing my thighs together again. Jo releases my skin to lick a trail up to my jaw and jump back to my lips, which meet hers passionately. She interlocks our fingers to match our dueling tongues, and I squeeze them out of overwhelming arousal, probably tighter than I meant to. Jo nips my lip on the retreat and grins saucily. “How’d you get such strong fingers, Everdeen?”

I give her my best patronizing look and snark, “Archery, brainless,” while sliding our linked hands down my stomach. She gets the message. And she must sense the extent of my need, because she doesn’t play around any more. It’s rather merciful of her, given how badly I teased her. With her pleasure fresh in my memory and Buttercup nowhere to be seen, it takes only a few moments of rubbing to get me there this time. I clutch her arm and relish the force and urgency in her muscles as she pushes me to the edge and over in a flurry of movement. She doesn’t try to mute me, but I emit only a gasp and a quiet moan anyway. I let my head fall back while the waves of pleasure die down, breathing heavily and blinking myself back to my senses. When my eyes regain focus, I see Johanna looking on with a cocked eyebrow.

“That was fast,” she comments.

“Getting you off turns me on,” I shrug, unsure whether or not this is something to be embarrassed about.

“I should have guessed you’d be a giver,” she remarks bluntly. I squint in reply, so she explains, “You get off on giving pleasure, I mean.”

“And you said I was selfish,” I mention with an exaggerated smirk, trying to play this off as something that didn’t bother me.

Johanna chuckles and affectionately combs her fingers through my dark mane. “You’re selfish in the sense that you only care about the well-being of a very select group of individuals, mostly people you’ve decided need your protection,” she clarifies. “You’d do anything to keep those people safe, but if someone’s not in your inner circle, they’re shit outta luck.” I think I can feel my heart sliding down into my stomach. She’s right, of course, and so was Snow. I can’t see past my narrowest concerns. Johanna tips my face back up to regain eye contact, her own brown orbs unexpectedly soft. “Loyalty is a good quality to have,” she assures me, brushing a tendril from my cheek. “You just have a tendency to overlook the big picture. You’re self-centered, not selfish. But no one can really blame you for that, either, because you’ve had to operate that way in order to survive.” She holds my befuddled gaze relentlessly. “You’re a good person, Katniss Everdeen.” My eyes start to burn and blur, so I blink away again. “What? Don’t believe me?”

I snuffle and shake my head. “I believe that you mean it,” I tell her. I sigh, gathering my thoughts. “I’m sure all of my direct and indirect casualties would have something to say about that, though.” I catch her eye again. “But they can’t. They’re dead.”

“What do you think?” she probes.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “How can I judge myself when I don’t even know myself anymore? I haven’t felt like myself since the reaping.” I blink back more tears. “Actually, I haven’t really felt like myself since my dad died, but I guess that’s because I became someone else.”

“You had to.”

“I know,” I nod. “But I think it’s happened again. I’m not just selfish now, Jo. I’m a murderer. I had to become that too.”

“Katniss–”

“The only time I feel like myself anymore is when I’m with you,” I blurt, ignoring her attempt to interrupt. Oh, shit, I can add that to the list of things I didn’t plan to say that made Johanna stare at me. My earnest eyes blink away shyly, and she sighs deeply.

“Come here, darling,” she whispers, rolling onto her back and pulling me with her so my head ends up tucked under her chin. “Do you remember what I said about my ex not being able to handle the real me?” I nod into her neck. “Well, that wasn’t really true, only sort of. I was upset when I said that. The truth is, part of me was still that same person underneath, still a bright-eyed, passionate girl with a lot of love to give.” Her chest rises sharply and then rumbles as she clears her throat. I go to fist her shirt reassuringly only to remember that she’s naked. I lay my palm flat on her ribcage instead. “But she didn’t have the guts or the patience to find me,” Jo continues. “I guess that’s part of why I buried that part of myself so deep, because no one was looking for her and it broke her heart. Better to put her out of her misery. But I never could kill her, and believe me, I tried very hard.”

I laugh once at this despite myself. “I’m sure you did,” I tease her, glad to have the conversation turn away from me for the moment. Not that it lasts long. Johanna is almost immediately tilting my chin up, silently ordering me to make eye contact. I obey, not that I have much choice in the matter.

“You’re right, we’re never the same. The killers in us never leave once they come out. But that’s not all we are,” she declares. “You’re still a loving sister, a champion of the helpless, and an arrogant little shithead who’s a real pain in the ass.” Her lips crack into a grin, and I don’t even pretend to be offended before laughing, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“I could be a bigger pain in your ass, if you’d like,” I smirk, caught between trying to look sultry and threatening and likely accomplishing neither.

Johanna’s face puckers and she responds, “Actually, I don’t really like it up the butt. A bit around the rim feels nice, but the whole…” she trails off as she catches the same expression crawling into my face.

“I meant ass-slapping!” I exclaim in disbelief, pushing my weight up onto my forearm. “For fuck’s sake, Mason. Do you have to make everything sexual?”

She lifts a suggestive eyebrow. “Was the ass-slapping not meant to be sexual?”

“Well, yes, but…” She cocks her head smugly. “Whatever, go fuck yourself.”

“Mm, I would, but someone’s insatiable and now I’m really sore,” she drawls pointedly.

“Pussy,” I mutter, though I can relate. The burn between my own legs is not entirely a pleasurable one anymore either.

“Yes, exactly. Isn’t yours sore?”

“No,” I lie.

“Bullshit,” she scoffs.

I groan exasperatedly and sink down onto her body. “It’s not my fault you’re so sexy,” I grumble. I catch her eye and try to glare. “You could at least try not to be irresistible, you know. It was very distracting this morning, you and your fucking bedroom eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she smirks.

“Oh yeah?” I challenge, slithering forward. I stop when our lips are only inches apart. I drag my nails down her ribs and rasp, “So you have no idea why I almost had to sneak a hand into my pants a couple times during the workout?”

“Oh my god, chill out, Everdeen. Go take a cold shower or something.” Jo reaches out to turn the clock on the dresser our way. It reads 21:54. “Oh, look. It’s almost time, anyway. Get lost.”

The topic of bathing time makes my stomach flip. The hunting wasn’t the only idea I got during training. This one makes me kind of uncomfortable because, again, I’m not the exhibitionist, though I am getting more used to being leered at while vulnerable. Johanna feasting her eyes on me this morning was what gave me this idea, after all. I swallow my nerves and roll my eyes dramatically. “Fine,” I draw out petulantly. “I’ll go.” I slide off the bed, never losing eye contact even once my feet hit the floor. I straighten up and smirk, “But I think I’ll have a bath. Been too long, and now I don’t have to worry about rushing to get out of the bathroom for you, right, Mason?” I wink. “You’ve already seen me naked, yeah?” I turn and start to slink away.

“I’m not getting in there with you, Everdeen,” Jo calls after me, halting me in my tracks. “Don’t even think about it.” Either I’m a bad actor, or she knows me too well. Though she has her details wrong, I don’t want to admit I’m plotting anything, so I wipe the guilt from my face before twisting and peeking over my shoulder.

“Well, now you’re making me think about it,” I purr with a salacious wink. Johanna is still eyeing me suspiciously, her posture guarded, so I take a couple of steps her way, softening my face so she can detect my honesty. “I wasn’t planning on it, don’t worry.”

That seems to satisfy Johanna, so I head to the bathroom and start filling the tub. I sit on the edge and mindlessly swirl the rising water, mixing and testing the temperature, trying to convince myself that this is not a terrible idea. I’ve seen Jo drink water and wipe herself with the damp cloth, so small, non-threatening doses of water might be fine. It could just be getting soaked or sprayed that spooks her. But then again, entering a room that has a tub full of water might be enough to set her off. I find myself wishing yet again that I knew exactly what happened to her and what I’m dealing with. A chat with a certain handsome seaman may be in order.

I’d planned from the beginning to reenter the main compartment naked after drawing the bath, figuring it was probably the best way to lure Johanna into the room. I may have learned a thing or two from Gale about thinking like my prey. The nice thing about already being nude is that it makes the ploy a little less obvious. I pad back into the living area, resisting the urge to cover myself now that I’m thinking about it. Seeing Buttercup first doesn’t help with that, with his relentless and disapproving stare from his perch atop the table. I make a hissing face at him and then try to channel that confidence as I walk into Johanna’s line of sight, or what would be her line of sight if her nose weren’t in the book she sent tumbling off the bed earlier. I’m sure she hears me approach, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Johanna?” I stop a foot from her bed and wait for her to make the next move. She slowly lowers the book, her tremulous expression revealing that she knows I intend to make her face her phobia. I offer her a firm hand and a steady gaze. “Come with me.”

“I told you,” she squirms, “I’m not getting in.”

“That’s not what I had in mind,” I assure her. Still, she hesitates. “You told me you trust me, remember?” Her suspicious eyes flicker and she sucks her top lip between her teeth. “Prove it.”

The girl exhales sharply through her nose and snaps the book closed. “Fine,” she mutters, dropping it on the mattress. She slides to the ground, ignoring my hand, and exits the nook ahead of me. Hey shaky progress slows halfway through the main room, so I take her hand and lead her around the partition and into the bathroom. I turn around, bringing us face-to-face, and press my lips against hers. A surprised twitch later, she returns my kiss, though I notice her eyes straying past the left side of my face and to the tub behind me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise in a low whisper. “I would never hurt you.” She snorts out a scoff, so I specify, “I mean, not in the way they did. Whatever it was.” Despite the slight tremor that my words bring on, Jo nods once. I guide us a few steps further in and then slowly rotate us clockwise, ensuring my body stays between her and the water. I press down on her shoulders lightly, prompting her to sit down on the toilet. “Is this okay?” I ask softly.

She nods again, though her eyes are nervously darting between my face and the tub. “Why am I here?” she inquires with a stoic face. I smile with affection. My girl, the actor.

“Remember how you said you wouldn’t be able to enjoy being in a shower even if I was there?” She nods glumly. “Well, I figure this way you can at least enjoy the experience visually,” I explain, stepping into the tub and starting to lower myself into the water. “I know you have ‘a thing’ for naked Katniss.” She smirks at my use of her words. 

With that, I suck in a breath and submerge myself. Truth be told, it’s as much for steadying my nerves as it is for going under. I shake the water from my face when I surface, and once my hands push past my brow in an effort to wipe any excess into my hair, I catch Johanna’s eye. The intensity of her gaze tempts me to break eye contact, much like when she looked at me in a very similar manner after removing the last of my clothes yesterday. Equal parts adoration and desire. I do blink away rather quickly because, despite our previous naked exploits, this is still pretty awkward for me. That, and it’s sort of turning me on in a perverse way that I’m not used to. I’m not the best at putting on a show, unless it involves arrows, and that’s especially true where my body is concerned. But I try anyway, soaping up my arms and front in my best imitation of how Johanna gaudily oiled up her skin at the Training Center – I must have watched her more closely than I like to admit to myself. I think I might be trying too hard, because this feels kind of ridiculous, and that suspicion is confirmed when I look up in the middle of scooping water over my collarbones and catch Jo smirking and barely suppressing a laugh. I harden my gaze.

“Call me adorable, and I’ll kick your ass,” I bark.

Jo bites her closed lips to hold back a smile. Once she has it under control, she remarks, “I never took you for an exhibitionist, Everdeen.”

“I’m not,” I argue. “I’m doing this for you.” She closes one eye and squints doubtfully with the other. “Well, okay, it is kind of hot,” I concede. “Kind of scary. Very weird.” I’m not even done saying this before Johanna is on the floor and walking over on her knees.

“Hey, you have nothing to be scared of. Hm?” She leans forward and kisses me gently. It occurs to me as I’m responding that she has her face and neck over the tub now. She really does trust me. I cautiously lift a wet hand to her cheek to test her threshold. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to bother her. A moment passes before she cups the back of my hand with one of hers and interlocks our fingers. “Look,” she says, “you don’t have to do this for me. If you’re uncomfortable–”

“I’m sure I’m much less uncomfortable than you are,” I point out. She doesn’t argue that. I trace the corner of her mouth with my thumb and try to gather my courage. This is as good a time as any to offer her a chance to take the next step. I wasn’t sure I was going to ask today, but she’s already right here. She’s just laying a kiss on my palm when I hazard, “Do you want to help?” Hey eyes warily flick my way. “No pressure,” I add sincerely, analyzing her apprehensive features as her face turns back to mine. “But, I could use some help with my back.”

“Of course you could,” she retorts with a scowl that says she knows very well what I’m trying to do. Despite that, she grabs the bar of soap, dips it in the water, and begins gingerly lathering up her hands. “You know, you’re really something else, Everdeen.”

I smirk and pull my hair in front of my shoulder. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those readers that mentioned how the smut last chapter lined up with the rest of the story, because that was my intention and I'm glad to hear it worked as planned. I prefer to make my smut functional, and yeah, if I'd left that out, we would have missed a lot of progression in their dynamics. Ummm, and this chapter's smut was not supposed to be so dirty or long to serve its purpose, but then it kind of escalated. Hah. I hope no one minds. ;)
> 
> Thanks to D7P for the beta read.


	12. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I have large chunks of the next several chapters already written, so hopefully you guys won't have to wait a month for an update again for awhile. Thanks for your patience.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“In a good or a bad way?” I ask as I wave to Soldier York in passing. The older woman acknowledges us with a nod but otherwise shows little response.

Johanna grabs my arm to regain my attention. “You seriously just waltzed up to Coin and asked her if you could take me out of the district?”

“I asked her if I could take you hunting with me. I’m allowed up to two hours a day, but I always went with Gale before.”

“Being the Mockingjay has its privileges,” she observes dryly.

“It was on my list of conditions back when I negotiated the captured victors’ immunity,” I retort. “You’re welcome.”

Johanna doesn’t speak again until we’ve passed the guards at the fence and all but disappeared beyond the tree line. Even then, she doesn’t speak so much as gasp. My heart jumps and I wheel around, anticipating some sort of threat, but all I see is my lover staring up at the treetops, a tear dribbling down her cheek. A smile melts onto my face despite my current irritation with her, and I reach out and intercept the tear as it builds at her chin, threatening to fall. My touch seems to bring her back; she blinks down and catches my eye. She smiles sheepishly and finally concedes, “Thank you.”

My smile grows and I take her hand. When she doesn’t object, I plant a chaste kiss on her mouth and lead us further into the woods. I’m sure Gale and I ventured farther than a quarter mile from the fence, so I’m not too worried about Coin holding me to that, so long as we return safely. I veer away from the ruins by the river despite my desire to see if that area is still intact after the bombing raid, deciding to save that for sometime when I’m alone or with Gale. It’s not just Jo’s aversion to water, either; that place feels sort of sacred between Gale and I. Part of me wants to bring her there because it's a place where I was happy, or at least peaceful. But I know it would feel wrong in the same way kissing Peeta felt wrong because of Gale, in the same way defaulting to being with Gale would feel wrong after what happened to Peeta. Being with Johanna is different than falling into Gale's arms on the rebound, because none of us ever acknowledged her as a contender in that battle, because I didn't have to hem and haw over it or consciously choose her. I simply realized over time that the depths of my affection and desire for her far outshone the feelings I had for either boy, and that it felt right in a way those things never had before, effortless and natural. However it happened, she has my heart now, and I want to share everything with her. But that doesn’t mean I should.

Johanna hasn’t devoted much time at all to practicing with her axes in the week or so since she fully regained her gun privileges, but as it turns out, it’s because she doesn’t need to. Maybe I could take a lesson from her in addressing my weaknesses instead of reveling in my strengths. My pride has something to say about that. We don’t function as a unit as well as Gale and I, but between the two of us, we bag a collection of seven rabbits and squirrels in just under an hour, and I decide it’s time to call it a day. I stuff my latest kill in the burlap sack and drop it at the foot of a tree, then take a look at Johanna to make sure she’s not stalking something before calling her name.

She looks up from where she’s crouched, wiping blood and bits of fur from one of her blades onto the grass. “What’s up?”

“Come here.” Jo regards me somewhat suspiciously, but holsters her axe and approaches after a couple more wipes. I take a few steps to meet her partway and circle my arms around her neck, pulling her into a loose but close embrace. She responds in kind, with gentle hands on my back and a cheek on my shoulder. My eyes involuntarily drop to the ruby lips resting near my clavicle, and my mouth swiftly follows.

We’ve been exchanging languid kisses for several minutes, tongues lazily probing soft lips and beyond, by the time she pulls back and smirks, “And I thought it was just bloodlust you had going on.”

“Ha ha ha,” I drawl sarcastically, unwilling to admit to the faint smoldering in my belly just from that affectionate embrace. “Sit down,” I instruct her, nodding to where I placed the bag. She cocks an eyebrow. “Please?”

Johanna grins and purrs, “I like it when you say please.” She strips off her wrist cuffs and lays them beside the sack, then pulls the axes from her hips and slides her butt down the trunk. I follow suit and relieve myself of my weapons and communicuff, then sink down in front of her and position myself between her legs, lolling my head back against her shoulder. My fledgling sense of contentment only grows when she wraps her arms around me and cups the backs of my hands like she always did back when we were sleeping together platonically. At least, supposedly.

Cocooned in her warmth, I sit and just bask in the sensory stimulation of the moment. Being cooped up underground seems to have made me ultra sensitive to the small sounds of nature that I previously took for granted. The rustling of the wind stirring the crisp autumn leaves. The skittering of small forest creatures’ feet. The beating of wings, the occasional birdcall. Johanna’s quiet breathing as I feel her ribcage expand and contract against my back. I give her fingers a minute squeeze and cherish the sensation of her thumbs rubbing over mine in reply.

“This almost feels like before we were reaped.” These mumbled words slip out of my mouth with no permission or forethought, and they hardly register until I feel Johanna shifting behind me. I tilt my head up and catch her questioning gaze. “You know, like we’re not famous and no one’s trying to kill us, like we’re not soldiers and there’s no war,” I elaborate. “It feels… normal.”

“Mm,” she grunts. “I know what you mean.” I feel her draw in and release a few breaths through her nose that’s pressed to my temple. “I’m glad you brought me here,” she finally whispers.

“I thought this would be good for you,” I beam. “Better than the head doctor.”

Johanna narrows her eyes. “So what is this?” she demands. “Some kind of therapy?”

“Something like that,” I smirk. Not wanting to provoke her any further, I crane my neck to press an affectionate peck to her lips. “It’s also a good excuse for some more alone time with you.”

She laughs and waggles her eyebrows. “Why am I not surprised?” she winks.

I turn my face forward so Jo loses her prime view of my blushing face. “I didn’t even mean that. Not necessarily.”

“‘Not necessarily.’ You’re hilarious, Everdeen.” She strokes a couple of fingers up my inner thigh, making it twitch. She laughs and leans closer so her lips are brushing my ear as she husks, “I’ve noticed you have strong muscles in places other than your fingers, you know.” I try to fight off my involuntary shiver. She gives the area a couple of pats. “These guys, too.”

“They’re called your hip adductors,” I inform her. I squint up at the sky and muse, “Well, there’s more specific muscle names, but I don’t remember them.”

“How do you know that?” she probes, genuinely curious. “In Seven, the only anatomy they bothered teaching us in school was when they gave us the sex talk. Had to make sure we weren’t spreading diseases around the population, making us infertile and shit.”

“My mother’s a healer,” I remind her. “I picked up a bit of the vernacular up from her.”

“You didn’t even know what a spleen was until they had to remove yours,” she teases. “Didn’t think her profession taught you anything.”

“The internal organs weren’t really applicable,” I explain. “I’m not even sure how much of that stuff she knew. It’s not like she performed surgeries, not unless you count setting broken bones and patching up lashing victims.” I catch my misstep almost immediately and backpedal, “I mean, any open wounds, really.”

A heavy pause passes, Jo silent and me squirming, before she speaks. “You don’t have to be so weird about that, you know. It makes it harder for me to put it behind me.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, hanging my head. “It’s just, after what happened to Gale, and being there…” I catch Johanna’s eye, hoping to find understanding, but mostly just finding annoyance. “I mean, he could have died. I know how bad it can be.” I sigh. “It’s just scary to think about.”

“That’s not your problem,” she immediately counters. “And I wasn’t scared. I mean, not as scared as I could have been.” I squint disbelievingly into her eyes as they glaze over. “It wasn’t my first time, Katniss. The most severe and by far the most traumatizing, sure, but not the first.” I blink in confusion. The scene in the elevator is all but permanently burned onto my retinas, and I don’t remember any scarring. As if reading my thoughts, she adds, “First time since the full body polish. Those were the only scars I didn’t mind losing.”

“Oh,” is all I can think of to say. That does make sense. I’ve always assumed Seven was treated halfway decently by the Capitol, but I know we got off easy in terms of law enforcement in Twelve. Until Thread showed up, at least.

“Believe it or not, I’ve always been a bit of a troublemaker,” she smirks. I snort despite my curdling stomach. “Usually subtle enough to avoid punishment, but not always.”

“You, subtle?”

“Brat,” she mutters, poking me in the ribs. “I can be, but I haven’t needed to be subtle for a long time. Snow made a mistake, killing off everyone he could use against me.”

That last sentence only compounds my discomfort, so I merely nod in acknowledgement. Johanna stays silent too, but shuffles behind me and begins combing her fingers through the loose tendrils of hair hanging off my temple. It’s relaxing, and now I kind of wish I’d left all my hair loose despite the braid being more practical for hunting. I don’t realize it’s meant to be something other than relaxing until she tucks her lips under my chin and starts kissing down my neck. Her one hand trails down my side and she frees the other one from my grasp before digging her fingertips under my hipbones. Through my sharp intake of breath, I can hear her purring, “So, tell me, Dr. Everdeen, what are these called?”

“The bones or the muscles?” I grin, grateful for the change of subject.

“There’s a muscle there?”

“Mm hm, several. I think these,” I clench my fingers around hers, pushing her fingertips deeper, “are my iliaci.” Jo grunts quietly in arousal, bringing a predatory grin to my face. I extricate her hands and slowly turn around in her lap, coming to rest on her thighs and my shins, my knees locked tight just below her hips. I drag a thumb down her hipbone and continue, “And this is your iliac crest.” I wrap my fingers around to contact the back of the bone, near her spine. “Part of your ilium,” I say, squeezing the bone in my grip, “one of the bones in your pelvic girdle.”

“That’s convenient,” she comments, though the lust in her eyes tells me her mind is elsewhere.

“Yeah, anatomy is full of patterns, and once you pick up on a few Latin words, it’s much easier. Did you know that ‘panem’ means ‘bread’ in Latin?” I gush. Prim’s enthusiasm for the subject seems to be rubbing off on me.

Johanna blinks and shakes her head. “This is another language or something?”

“Yeah, a dead language from thousands of years ago, or so Plutarch tells me.” She silently holds my gaze, her deadly eyes slowly returning. Determined to be the seducer rather than the seduced for once, I bury my face in her neck before they can sap all my willpower. My lips settle on one of the muscular protrusions I noticed she was sucking and kissing along just before she fucked me for the final time last night. I kiss up the sensitive band on one side of her neck and stroke my fingers along the other. “Know what these are called?”

“No,” she chuckles, ‘but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“They’re your sternocleidomastoids.”

She flinches away a little in shock. “My what, now?”

“It’s a muscle that originates on your sternum and your clavicle,” I elucidate, drawing my finger slowly over the bones, “and inserts, or ends, at your mastoid process.” I kiss the bony projection right behind her earlobe, indicating the spot. “Sternocleidomastoid. Break it apart, and it makes sense.”

“Are you sure you’re not from District Three?” she teases.

“They study machines, not bodies,” I whisper into her ear, just before I nip it. “This is called your pinna, by the way. The visible part of your ear.” I feel a shudder of arousal go through her, and I’m grinning hugely by the time she pushes my face back so she can look me in the eye.

“What’s your tongue called?” she demands.

I feel my eyebrows knit together while I pause and consider this. “I don’t think I know that one,” I admit after a few fruitless moments.

“Shame on you, Katniss Everdeen,” Johanna scolds me with a wagging finger. “The tongue is very important. You should know this by now.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur with feigned contrition and a bowed head. “You’re right.” I touch my tongue just under her other ear and graze it along her jaw. When I reach her chin, I retract it only to say, “I’ll be sure to remedy that right away,” before ramming it through her lips. She moans into the kiss and my knees clamp around her hips yet tighter. She pushes on the small of my back to draw my torso in closer. I oblige, but this gives me a significant height advantage. Not that that’s abnormal. I push down on her shoulders to break the kiss, and she pouts until I prod the muscle behind her clavicles, resulting in a grimace.

“Trapezius,” I smirk, rubbing it in small circles. “It has a tendency to get really tight.”

“Tight, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow.

“Mm.” I press slightly harder and only smile wider when Jo’s face contorts in a delicious medley of pain and desire. “That feel better, baby?” I coo.

She ignores my condescension in favor of suggesting, “Might feel better in other places.”

I grin. “How about your pelvic floor muscles? Know where those are?”

Her throat visibly bobs, eyes glazing over again. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I could palpate them for you, if you’d like, but…” I lean in close and breath directly into her ear, “I’d have to go inside you.” I’m not even done saying this before my right hand starts the journey along her collarbone and down through her cleavage. It’s just sneaking beneath her waistband when she suddenly grabs my wrist and rotates her body to the right, pushing off the trunk and landing on top of me in the grass. She captures my other wrist and swiftly pins both beside my head. I put up a bit of a fight, but her movements are so decisive and purposeful that I admittedly want her to win, to do to me whatever she desires. My eyes are huge with arousal even before she growls out a pair of familiar words that light my loins on fire.

“Stay down.”

Yeah, I definitely like it rough.

***

Despite my vastly improved fitness, I am a bit out of breath by the time I reach the Block for the second time today. Unlike when I rushed to catch Johanna playing with her axes, I ignored the admonishing glares as I ran through the hallways. Maybe I shouldn’t have, because I collide with a soldier exiting the area just as I blaze around the final corner before the debriefing room and weapons lockup. I automatically snap my hands out to steady myself, and they land on his stomach at the same instant as he grasps my upper arms. I’m embarrassed even before I look up into a pair of familiar gray eyes.

“Gale,” I say louder than necessary, pushing off of his abs a little in my effort to step backward. His eyes narrow slightly at this stronger than usual reaction to his presence.

“Catnip.” He looks me over for an uncomfortable couple of seconds before asking, “How are you? It’s been awhile.” He’s not wrong. I’ve purposely been avoiding him since things got physical between Johanna and I, unsure if I could face him. We’ve eaten a couple of meals at the same table in the last 48 hours, but I’ve hardly so much as made eye contact, let alone spoken to him. He’s surely noticed, but he hasn’t pushed the issue.

“I’m okay,” I tell him, jamming my hands into my hip pockets and fighting my urge to break eye contact. “I’ve been… busy.”

He deadpans, “I’ve noticed,” but then he lets a small smile creep out. “But it’s nice to see you.”

“You too.” My eyes flick away from his almost immediately, eventually ending up down the hallway. “Is Finnick still back there, or is he with Annie already?” I know how insensitive a question that is given the circumstances, but I’m on a mission and Gale’s feelings aren’t my most pressing concern. We’re still close enough in proximity for me to both see and feel his muscles tightening.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirms coolly. “He’ll be out soon, I’m sure.”

“Sorry,” I mumble guiltily. “It’s just, it’s hard to catch him on his own.”

“Because he barely leaves Annie’s side. I know what you mean.” I can’t help thinking that’s directed at me.

“Gale…” I start.

“He won’t be long, don’t worry.”

Gale’s rounded the corner before I have a chance to say any more, so I just curse under my breath and resume my journey in the opposite direction. I hear Finnick’s silky voice echoing out into the hallway as I approach, drawing a smile onto my face. I haven’t spoken with him much since the victors were rescued, certainly not on his own. Because he’s been all but glued to Annie, of course, but also because his closeness with Johanna became rather irksome once I realized I had feelings for her. It’s perhaps a little bit ironic that it’s that same intimacy that’s prompting me to reconnect with him.

I pop my head into the lockup and spot Finnick chatting animatedly with one of the Block instructors, but he senses my gaze almost immediately and looks over his shoulder. I wave shyly and he grins in reply. He says his goodbyes and strolls over, eyes glinting playfully. “To what do I owe this honor, Mockingjay?” he smirks.

I roll my eyes. “I should be the one fainting at your mere presence, shouldn’t I, Mr. Odair?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You handled yourself rather well when I was mostly naked, so I’m hardly expecting you to fawn all over me now.” I blush slightly at the memory, only prompting him to chuckle again. “Walk with me?” he suggests with a nod into the hallway. “Annie has a head doctor appointment after dinner, so I want to be around for Reflection,” he explains as I turn and follow him.

“Does that mean you’re stealing Jo again tonight?” I ask with a notable bite in my tone.

He regards me silently for a few seconds and then observes, “You make it sound like she’s your prized possession.” I shove my hands into my pockets and set my gaze straight ahead. I’m vaguely ashamed that that’s my mindset, even if Johanna finds my possessiveness sexy. It’s unreasonable, yet again, and probably not healthy. At least, that’s what my rational brain tells me. “Johanna does what she wants,” Finnick answers. “If she wants to hang out with me, she will.” My face puckers a little at the implication that Jo preferred spending time with Finnick over me after kissing me in the Block. It’s a moment before he adds, “But I doubt it. You’re attached at the hip these days.” Not to mention other places.

“I guess.”

“Surprised she let you out of her sight,” he remarks. “Aren’t you two supposed to be shooting or something? Doing your little routine for the cameras?” He sticks his tongue out playfully and mimes shooting his fingers like pistols. I find my eyes rolling yet again. Cressida and her crew have been filming other stuff besides the wedding to broadcast to the country, mostly the so-called faces of the revolution training for the invasion. I know they spent some time with Gale and Finnick recently, and I was informed at yesterday’s meeting that they wanted to film Johanna and I on the shooting range this afternoon. I wasn’t thrilled. I’m sick of cameras.

“We finished a little early,” I reply. “Told her I was going to talk to my mom at the hospital.”

Finnick casts me a scrutinizing gaze at this confession. “You don’t want her to know you’re here.” I shake my head. “What do you want, Katniss?”

“I want your most valuable asset, Finnick,” I respond without missing a beat. I lean in close to his ear and purr, “Secrets.”

Finnick can’t quite fight off the grin threatening to part his lips. “And just what makes you think I’ll give you any secrets about our dear friend Johanna?” he inquires with a twinkle in his eye. I stare blankly and he elaborates, “Besides the fact that she might attempt to murder me, you know I use secrets as a form of payment, right? You must have something to offer.”

“If you tell me what I want to know, maybe I’ll give you a good secret back.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be a fair trade,” he counters. “I’d bet your secrets are nothing compared to Johanna’s.”

“You might be surprised,” I mumble, twitching my eyebrows once.

“I doubt it.”

“So then what _do_ you want, Finnick?” The longer he looks at me, the surer I become that what he wants is to make me squirm. I sigh and decide to try a different approach. “Look, I’m only asking because I want to help her, okay?”

His brow crinkles. “Help her with what?”

“The water thing.”

Finnick pauses mid-step, prompting me to do the same. “I thought she was keeping that a secret,” he says, peering deeper into my eyes.

I blink away and huff, “I’m not as stupid as you all seem to think I am.”

“Not stupid,” he corrects me. I catch his eye warily. “Naïve. Preoccupied. But not stupid.”

“That’s not really an improvement,” I respond dryly, but he just shrugs and resumes walking.

“You’ve carved out your own reputation, Katniss,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hey!” I catch up to him and give him a mild shove to convey my seriousness. “You make it sound like I don’t even want to know what happened to her. But I do. That’s why I’m asking you.” He gives me an unimpressed look and I prod, “I remember her going off on you at the wedding when you threatened to dunk her. I know she told you.”

“Maybe you should woman up and ask her yourself,” he remarks.

“I’m not afraid to ask her,” I calmly argue. His expression clearly states that he thinks I’m full of it, but I am actually telling the truth. Mostly. “I’m not afraid she’ll get mad,” I insist, “I’m afraid of reminding her of things. I don’t want to bring it up and make her think about it.” I already saw pain in her eyes once today from having to recall something traumatic, and that’s plenty enough. “But I want to help her, and if I know exactly what happened, I can do a better job.” Finnick’s face softens thoughtfully, so I further pad my argument, “And there’s less chance I’ll accidentally do something to spook her because I don’t know any better.” There’s also my suspicion that she’ll say it’s not my problem and I’m making everything about me again, but I don’t voice that.

Finnick sighs and looks around for any witnesses. Though we are ostensibly alone, he lowers his voice to ask, “She told you they shocked her, right?” I nod, unsure where this is going. “Then you have all the pieces. When they shocked her, it was usually after soaking her with water. It conducts electricity well, especially salt water.” Well, shit. That explains the severity of her reaction to the thunderstorm and being held down in the puddle. I can already feel the blood draining from my face when he adds, “There was some waterboarding too, but mostly the shocks.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat to ask, “What’s waterboarding?”

“You don’t wanna know,” he assures me, watching the concrete just in front of his moving feet.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m asking, aren’t I?”

Finnick begrudgingly meets my gaze and sighs upon seeing my hardened expression. “Without going into detail, it’s a trick to make your body feel like it’s drowning. Though they did almost drown her for real a few times, too.” His jaw twitches and eyes flick away again, and he lifts a hand to scratch at the base of his scalp.

“Sorry,” I murmur, my own eyes hitting the floor. “I just… I wanna help.”

“What are you gonna do, Katniss?” he demands with an eye roll. “Get in the bath with her?” My ears turn crimson, though probably not for the reason he assumes.

“If it would help, maybe,” I mumble to the floor.

“You? The pious virgin Mockingjay who couldn’t even look at a man naked?” he teases.

“I bathed fucking Beetee in the second arena,” I snap. “Things change, Finnick. Besides, I’ll do whatever I can to help, and I’m not good at the talking thing. That was Peeta’s forté.”

Finnick shrugs. “She wouldn’t want to talk to you about it, anyway. She barely told me.”

“No shit,” I snort. “I mean, she went to huge lengths to keep me from figuring out she’s hydrophobic. She made up some bullshit story about not moving to the Victor’s Village when she won and not being used to showers.”

“That’s true, actually,” he interjects. “Not moving right away, I mean.”

“Yeah, ‘cause her family didn’t want to move, I know. That was the one part of the story that made sense.” Finnick nods in confirmation, but not before I pick up on a flicker of confusion in his eyes. It’s probably only because of that that I am paying enough attention to see the uncertainty in his expression, the waver in his resolve. He’s debating whether or not to tell me something. It dawns on me before he comes to a decision. “It wasn’t for her family, was it? It was for the asshole ex-girlfriend.”

Finnick nods, eyebrows at his hairline. “Jo moved down south when they broke up.”

“And then she met the boyfriend Snow killed as a warning,” I reason aloud.

“She’s told you a lot,” Finnick observes.

I sigh. “Yeah, well, she didn’t tell me about this stuff. You said it, I’m not the person she goes to.”

Finnick stops walking again and eyes me cautiously. “I didn’t mean because she doesn’t trust you, Katniss,” he clarifies after a moment of hesitation. “She didn’t want you to think of her as weak. You admired her, and she didn’t want that to change.”

“So she wanted to impress me?” He nods. “Huh. Johanna never made me feel like she gave a damn what I thought of her.”

“Everyone wants to impress the Mockingjay. People like you more than you think, you know. Johanna included.”

“Johanna likes me, huh?” I put on a lascivious smirk and waggle my eyebrows for good measure. 

For once, I appear to have Finnick on his heels, stammering, “That– that’s not what I meant.” I’m somewhat surprised he doesn’t know that I’m aware of this. I’d kind of assumed Jo would tell him what’s going on despite our general tendency to keep it quiet. I have reason to keep these things from my best friend, but she doesn’t, not so far as I know. As much as I’m enjoying the rare opportunity to make Finnick Odair uncomfortable, I decide to put him out of his misery.

“It’s okay, Finnick.” I smile, genuinely this time. “I know.”

“You… oh.” He blinks. “You two have a big heart-to-heart?”

“Something like that,” I mumble, my skin betraying me with an instantaneous and stark blush. 

“Katniss,” he utters in a tone that suggests he is impressed or scandalized, possibly both. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Told you you’d be surprised,” I chuckle, shuffling my feet.

“I underestimated you,” he admits. A lewd grin then crawls onto his face. He cocks an eyebrow and grills me, “So, _have_ you gotten in the bath with her?”

“No,” I snort, shoving him before resuming our progress toward the elevator. “And you’re disgusting.”

Finnick must catch the irritation lurking under my levity, because as soon as he catches up he assures me, “Don’t worry, Katniss. I only have eyes for Annie.” I side eye him but he just bumps shoulders and grins. “I mean that. Really. You’re just fun to tease.”

“So I hear.”

He chuckles and loops an arm over my shoulder. I look up curiously to see an authentic smile shining on my friend’s face. “But I hope you don’t mind me saying, you’re one lucky girl.”

Finnick’s smile turns out to be contagious. And I guess I believe him, because I surprise myself more than him when I say, “No, I don’t mind.”

***

Buttercup is curled up on Johanna’s chest and purring away under her gentle hands when I enter our compartment for Reflection. He’s facing Jo and I can’t see his expression, but given hers, it must be adorable. I mean, as adorable as that ugly, annoying thing can be. Jo’s face completely melts when he lets out a soft mewl, and I can’t help snorting in a combination of amusement and disgust.

“Making friends?” I scoff more contemptuously than I meant to. Buttercup looks over his shoulder at the sound of my voice, but then haughtily kneads Jo’s chest with his paws and returns his head to it. Typical.

“We’re already friends,” Johanna states matter-of-factly. She scratches between his ears and coos, “Right, stinky butt?” I roll my eyes and kick off my shoes. I don’t even like Buttercup, but at least I have the decency not to talk to him like he’s a child. He probably understands fewer words than a small child, come to think of it. Maybe it’s more just that I don’t find stupidity or uselessness endearing. Jo looks back up and asks me, “How’s Mama Everdeen?”

“She’s all right,” I shrug as I enter the sleeping nook. I head for the dresser and toss my hair elastic onto it, immediately weaving my fingers into my braid to loosen it.

“She says hi, by the way,” I hear from my left. I warily glance over at Jo, who smirks back. “She came home to feed the cat and asked me to entertain him. He was all cranky from being left alone.” She lifts the orange bundle high off her chest, ignoring his startled meow and low warning growl. “Weren’t you, mister grouch grouch?” she babytalks, holding him by his midsection at arm’s length. The cat releases another guttural noise, a higher one this time, and Johanna relents. Despite how nicely she places him back on her ribcage, he jumps off of her the second she releases him. Judging by the string of curses that explodes from her lips, he didn’t bother to put the claws away.

“He’s not going to like you anymore if you do that,” I warn her, watching as she winces and pulls her shirt back to examine the shallow scratches on her torso.

Johanna shakes her head and lets her shirt fall back into place. “He likes Prim, and I’m sure she used to drag him around when she was little. He just pretends not to like the attention.” I throw her a doubtful look and she insists, “He wants it, deep down.” Her eyes break away and follow him to the living area. “Or, really, he wants it on his own terms. I see your point.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” I observe dryly, and immediately regret it because I’m the one who was just caught in a lie. It would behoove me to relieve the tension of the moment rather than give Jo a reason to fire snark right back my way. She rises to the occasion, of course. I know I’m in trouble just from her twinkling eyes and the predatory way in which she pushes herself into a sitting position. I look away nervously and resume disrobing in an effort to distract myself.

I’m peeling my sweaty training shirt off my skin and over my head when Johanna queries, “Off visiting your handsome cousin?” with excessive ironic nonchalance.

“No,” I grumble sourly, spiking the shirt on the bed for emphasis. “I can’t even look at Gale right now, much less speak to him.”

“You don’t owe him anything, you know,” Johanna preaches. I deflate and lean forward, bracing my palms on the dresser. She’s correct, technically, but knowing that doesn’t stop me from feeling bad. Really, other than the occasional angry outburst or snarky comment, Gale has been respectful of my entanglements with Johanna and Peeta and given me space to figure things out. I’m not sure he’s aware that things are more than platonic with Johanna, but still. Part of me wishes I could reward him in the way that he wants. All of me wishes I could do better by him, in one way or another.

I pluck a new shirt out of the drawer and finally catch Jo’s eye. “Maybe not. Doesn’t mean it’s not weird.” As I’m pulling the garment over my head, a nagging question resurfaces in my mind. Johanna doesn’t have the same tension in her friendship with Finnick as I do with Gale, yet she hasn’t told Finnick about the recent developments in our relationship. Though I suspect it might just be out of respect for my privacy, the possibility that she wants it to stay a secret is almost insulting, and not knowing her motives is grating my nerves. Using my very limited talent for the power of suggestion, I shrug and casually remark, “It’s not like you telling Finnick. He’s not into you.” I barely get this out before Johanna silences me with a sharp look. I snap up a diplomatic hand and backpedal, “I mean, maybe he would be, but he’s with Annie, you know.”

“Right,” she snorts, “of course he’s still tied up in crazy Cresta.”

She may as well have just struck me upside the head again. I feel like I’m going to stumble from the blow, but though I can’t form words for a moment, I manage to stay on my feet. Once I shake some of the shock from my head, my suddenly paled cheeks heat up and my eyes and mouth pucker.

“I thought you said Finn was like your brother,” I spit, crossing my arms. “Since when do you like him that way?”

“I don’t,” she shrugs, “not really. He’s very attractive, obviously, but I never fell for him in the romantic sense.” Off my unyielding expression, she sighs, “It’s the principle of the thing. There’s a sexy, badass new victor around who’s on the rebound and feeling frisky, and he falls for the mad girl instead. Talk about a shot to the ego.”

My eyes find a way to narrow further. “Annie’s a legitimately nice person, Johanna,” I chastise her. “She deserves happiness too. It’s not her fault she went a little more crazy than the rest of us.”

“I know, it’s just…” She swallows and blinks down to the mattress. Her voice is scratchy when she half-whispers, “It made me wonder what was wrong with me.” Her tone drains some of my aggression and bids me consider this closer. If she was on the rebound, she’s probably referring to her Victory Tour after being dumped or to the 72nd Games after the boyfriend was killed. If she’d just been dumped, the question is understandable. Either way, I can see why she’d be lonely and act impulsively on it. Isn’t that precisely what I did with Gale in District 2? These thoughts don’t make her interest in Finnick any more palatable, but they at least allow me some sympathy. 

I walk the two steps to the older girl and lift her chin. I wait until she raises her reluctant eyes before saying, “Nothing’s wrong with you. Love is weird, remember?” She makes a weak attempt to smile and I graze my thumb over her cheekbone. “People like different things. Maybe Finnick wants to be with someone he knows needs him. Maybe he needs to feel like he’s protecting someone.”

“Oh, like you?” she retorts. “You’re the one who knows all about being attracted to helplessness and pain. Bread Boy’s plenty evidence of that.” I pull my hand back from her hardening features. “Is that who you were off with?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snap.

“Sure makes it feel like it when you lie to me about it,” she points out.

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Fine, you wanna know who I was with? I was with Finnick. Happy now?”

“Why?” she inquires more than a little suspiciously.

“Why not?” I shoot back.

“I know you, Everdeen, and I can tell when you’re up to no good,” she asserts sharply. “Now, what were you doing with Finnick?”

“I just wanted to…” I exhale heavily, deciding not to even attempt to lie again. “I wanted to know more about what happened to you in the Capitol.” Her eyes begin to narrow dangerously, so I immediately tack on, “And don’t you dare say I should have come to you. You would have said it yourself, it’s not fair of me to make you talk about it just so I can–”

“What, help me?” She laughs. “What did I tell you? Attracted to helplessness and pain.”

I step back and scowl, “For your information, Johanna, I found you devastatingly attractive long before I caught even a whiff of helplessness coming off of you.”

“Oh, I know you did,” she chuckles acerbically. “You could have caught flies with your mouth in the elevator. But when did you do something about it? When did you even start treating me like a living, breathing person? When I got hurt and you felt bad about it.”

I glare at her angrily, unsure how else to respond. I can’t entirely deny this, but doesn’t she understand that there were other forces in play? I was always focused on rescuing Peeta, and that skewed how I perceived and treated her. In the arena, everyone’s an enemy. Before I have a chance to voice these thoughts, she’s leaning forward and earnestly proclaiming, “I want you to be with me because you want to be with me, not because you want to help me or assuage your own guilt.”

Her sincerity and phrasing are not lost on me, so I code my own response in the same manner and respond as calmly as possible, “I wouldn’t be with someone just out of guilt.” 

This assertion is greeted with a bout of Jo’s infamous high-pitched, sarcastic laughter. I try to intensify my evil eye, but this does nothing to deter her. “Are you fucking kidding? That’s like the currency of your love, Katniss. Whoever’s been hurt the most by you is always in the lead.”

I set my jaw and gulp to combat the hot swelling in my throat. “Since when do you think of me as some kind of competition?”

“I don’t really, but how can I not be worried with your wounded boy toys hanging around?” she demands. “Maybe I’m the most hurt out of the relatively sane people who don’t want to murder you. At least, for now. But once you’ve ‘fixed’ me with your fucking water therapy or whatever, and you don’t feel bad anymore, what, are you just gonna move on to your next project?”

“Fuck you!” I bark. “Excuse me for wanting to be able to be around my girlfriend and not send her into some kind of flashback because I don’t know any better. Forget fixing you, I can’t stand the thought of making it worse again!” My voice cracks on those last few words and I avert my eyes self-consciously, clenching my fists. I inhale deeply through my nose and try again to swallow down the aching tension affecting my speech. I get my breathing under control fairly quickly and lament, “The puddle still haunts me.”

“You didn’t–”

“I didn’t know. Exactly.” I snap my eyes back to Jo’s and widen them meaningfully. “I just want to do what’s best for you. And I wasn’t trying to go behind your back when I went to Finnick, I didn’t want to make you have to think about it. Okay?”

Johanna slumps out of her aggressive posture and looks to the floor. She combs her fingers nervously through the inch of hair on her scalp and sighs, “What did he tell you?”

“Not much I didn’t already know,” I assure her gently. She catches my eye again and I elaborate, “That they mixed the shocks with the water. That does explain a lot, though. The thunderstorm, the puddle.” Jo’s brow creases and she chews on the inside of her cheek. “And he said they almost drowned you, and tried to trick you into thinking you were drowning. But he didn’t explain how that works.”

She shudders. “I don’t think you need a full explanation of that. It’s not something you’ll ever do by accident.” She notices my raised eyebrow and says, “If you really wanna know, ask Plutarch or something. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t think you would,” I reply pointedly. “That’s why I talked to Finnick.”

“Okay, I get it,” she grumbles.

I roll my eyes and climb onto my bed with one of my tactics books. I’ve been pretending to read for a few moments before Jo speaks up again. 

“So… I’m your girlfriend, now?”

I smile. I can’t help myself. But I make sure to hide all but a hint of it before lowering the book and replying, “Something like that.”

***

I like the feeling of Johanna’s hands scrubbing my back, to say the least. As much as she’s questioned my motives for helping her, she bravely followed me into the bathroom of her own volition when I announced my intention to have a bath again tonight. I’m sure it was at least partly for the strip show, considering the way she was biting her lip while she stood there watching, but it’s still an improvement. She also seems to be more comfortable today, and she’s taking her time. I try to hold in my groans while she rubs my muscles tenderly and exfoliates my skin with her nails. When we are in our sleeping nook, we can afford a bit of noise because we have two bathrooms in-between us and my family, but there’s currently only one thin wall separating us from whoever’s showering next door. But maybe once we’re done in here, I can convince her to return the favor for that massage I gave her earlier in the week.

Johanna beats me to the punch when she burrows her thumbs deep into the flesh behind my collarbones. I wince and moan painfully, culling a chuckle from my partner. “You said this is your trapezius, right?” Oh, this again. I guess her mind has roamed to similar places as mine.

“Mm,” I grunt, not trusting myself to open my lips given what she’s doing. I feel her thumbs slide down between my scapulae.

“These?”

I clear my throat to reclaim my voice. “Still part of the traps,” I inform her. “But also the rhomboids. They’re the next muscle layer down.”

“Layers?” The unmistakable surprise in her voice makes me grin, not that she can see it.

“Yeah. Didn’t anyone ever tell you people have layers, Mason? You’d know all about that.”

Johanna hums. “Maybe I should get your mom to teach me,” she comments. “Then you can stop making me feel stupid.”

“I learned most of it from Prim, actually,” I say. “Or, well, by helping Prim study her doctor stuff. Mom only knew so much, and it’s not like she outright taught us. But when I was recovering from the gunshot and had nothing on my schedule but recovery exercises, Prim would come sit with me like she did for you before, and I’d quiz her.” I glance over my shoulder and shrug, “Well, I’m sure you remember. You were there.”

Johanna chuckles. “Physically, maybe, but I was pretty doped up at that point because I suddenly had access to two morphling supplies. I vaguely remember her coming by, but I can’t recall anything she said to either of us.”

I face forward again and silently ruminate on this. Eventually, I mumble, “Do you miss it? The morphling?”

“Sometimes,” she confesses. “I still figure it’s not such a bad life, but I wasn’t really living, you know? Once I was forced off of it because of your rib treatment, I felt more… not happy, but present, I guess.” I’m pondering what she means by that and if she’s still unhappy when I hear her lungs suck in a deep breath and her hands dip into the water. I don’t call attention to her actions, but I smile broadly to myself when I feel water cascading down onto my shoulders from her cupped palms. She could only bring herself to rinse me with a sponge yesterday. This is faster progress than I expected.

She dumps water over my back a couple more times before I feel a few of her fingers softly trailing down the inner border of one of my shoulder blades. I can hardly contain the shivers that emanate from the point of contact and pull my skin into goosebumps. I’m just thinking that I should wash the rest of myself and get out of this tub as quickly as possible when I hear Johanna shuffling beside me. I look her way and catch her shifting from her kneeling position into more of a squat, her eyes flicking about nervously. I understand why when she straightens her legs just enough to ease herself up onto the side of the bathtub.

“Johanna?” I place a wet hand on one of her bare forearms. She doesn’t answer, but she inhales shakily and leans forward to remove her socks and roll up her pant legs. When she’s done, she finally lets me see her face. It is stoic as ever, but I still feel the need to ask, “Are you sure?”

She gulps, but also nods. “This is about the safest environment I can think of to get used to it,” she says in a tone I’m not used to hearing from her anymore. Cold, detached. Despite this progression being an eventual goal of mine, I’m suddenly uneasy. But I’m certainly not going to hold her back from trying, no matter what she has to do to get through it.

I watch quietly as Jo slowly pivots on her butt to face me, her eyes on the liquid below. She falters briefly, feet poised above the water, but then shakes her head sharply and drops them in. She gasps on impact and I reflexively shoot a hand out to touch one of her thighs. I’m not sure whether or not she wanted to do this without my help, but it’s instinctual now for me to provide her with some kind of grounding contact. I don’t want her to go into another flashback and set herself way back. She still seems to be here, though, wide eyes still on the water while her fingers turn a deathly shade of white against the tub’s edge.

“Johanna?” She blinks a few times, but otherwise remains frozen and mute. I move my second hand to her other thigh and dip my head so my face is in her line of sight. Her eyes focus on mine and she slowly starts to breathe again. “Would you like me to do it?” I gently propose. She nods stiffly. I rub one of her thighs reassuringly. “Just look at me, okay?” She nods again, a tad more naturally. “Don’t look down.” I hesitate for a few seconds as I catch sight of the tears pooling in her eyes, but I can’t turn back now. Instead, I push up on her thighs until I’m standing on my knees, then lean in and kiss her. That was the magic remedy last time. She barely responds, but I hope it’s comforting nonetheless. I pull away but hold her gaze while I steadily utter, “I’m going to start now. Okay?”

Johanna swallows the lump in her throat, and her gravelly voice finally replies, “Okay.” I smile at the lucid response and lower my butt to rest on my heels, then gingerly pull up on one of her calves to lift her foot from the water. I rest it in my lap, lather up my hands and start off gently working between her toes and under her nails. I look up often, and my brow creases when I start to notice her eyes straying and her breathing picking up again. I can’t really blame her for staring at the water like it’s about to jump up and bite her. I remember vividly how my eyes ended up glued to a widening crack in the ceiling when we were penned in the bunker during the air raid, and my own need for a distraction.

Talk about something, Katniss. Anything.

“You know,” I grin, “when I told Finnick I wanted to help you, he asked if I was gonna get in the bath with you.”

Johanna snorts, her eyes jumping back up to my face. “Boys are gross.”

I smirk up at her with my best bedroom eyes. “He’s no worse than you, sweetheart.” If that’s no distraction, then I don’t know what is.

She averts her gaze again, albeit briefly. “I, uh… I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.” I blink in confusion, and she clarifies, “About Finnick, I mean. What I said earlier.”

My hands jolt to a stop against my will, echoing my stomach’s calisthenics. I do my best to compensate for this by calmly stating, “I shouldn’t have freaked out about that. You don’t owe me an explanation.” I admittedly want one, but I’m trying to be less of a dick.

“No, Katniss, I don’t want you to misunderstand,” she insists. “Finnick was the only person still alive who I had any kind of connection with. He was the only person I could have safely been involved with at all, you know? I could get away with getting laid, but I knew if I got even remotely attached to anyone who wasn’t indispensible to Snow, they’d be as good as dead.” She sets her jaw and glares down into the water. “Annie, she wasn’t in Snow’s crosshairs. She could have had anyone. But no, she had to have Finnick. And he wanted her, and no one else.” She meets my gaze. “I’ve never really been attached to him romantically, but I’m sure you can understand why that would be a disappointment.”

“Yeah,” I reply softly. I blink away. “I understand.”

“We would’ve only seen each other a few times a year, but…” She swallows. “It could have been something to look forward to. Some kind of light. A reason to keep going.” My chest swells with a sharp ache that hinders my breathing. I’ve always had Prim to keep me going. I can only imagine what losing her would be like, but Johanna knows. Snow did to her what he did to Haymitch. The pain in my chest only intensifies, but I blink the burn from my eyes. It’s her turn to cry. But she’s not crying, she’s just staring through the shower wall despondently. “All those years, I couldn’t get close to anyone, couldn’t truly have anyone.”

I take a moment to choose my words before palming one of her knees and attempting to comfort her. “You have me, now. I know that doesn’t make it better, but you don’t have to keep going alone anymore. All that’s over.” Her eyes regain some of their light, but her sadness is still palpable. I get to my knees again and position my hands on the edge of the tub so my thumbs are brushing her pinkies, pulling myself within inches of her body. I tilt my head forward to rest my forehead against hers, and then whisper against her lips, “I’m not leaving you, remember?”

Johanna’s mouth curls with a hint of a smile. Our lips reconnect, and within seconds I feel her hands leave their stronghold in favor of grazing along my skin. I move one of mine to return the favor, but it meets a fabric barrier and I almost chuckle into the kiss. It’s a rare occurrence that I’m naked and Johanna Mason is not. I fist her shirt instead for the duration of the embrace. She pulls back before long and winks, “How about we finish this washing business and get out of here?”

“I like the way you think,” I smirk. She opts to stretch her hands out to steady herself on my shoulders this time, which gives me less room to work but somehow feels more secure. I take my time with her feet because god knows they need it, but zoom through the rest of my own bathing routine. Jo got up to towel off once I was done with her, so it’s not until I’m standing in the draining tub that I notice her trembling. I approach with concern, but when she looks my way to hand me a towel, I spy the hostility in her expression. She’s not scared, she’s angry. I start drying my hair, keeping a cautious eye on the girl while she plunks down on the toilet and starts to relieve herself right in front of me. Not that it bothers me. There’s no false modesty between us now. I’ve been watching her silently steam for several moments before I finally hazard, “What’s wrong?”

“This is just so fucking unfair,” she fumes, staring daggers at the ground.

My brow furrows. “What is?” 

“This.” She waves her hand around the room. “That we have to do this. That I need your fucking help with something like this.”

I subtly exhale in relief that I’m not the target of her anger. I loop the towel over my shoulders and commiserate, “I know it is, baby.”

Johanna’s death glare instantly focuses on me. “Don’t call me that,” she growls. “I don’t want your sympathy. I want this to be over.”

“Hey,” I spout defensively, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The smaller girl sighs and lets her shoulders droop. “I know,” she mutters, still with a nasty scowl. She stands, hikes her pants up, and whips her towel over the curtain rod to hang dry. “Since when am I someone who can’t take care of herself?” she gripes.

“You can,” I argue. “Bathing isn’t like eating or sleeping, you know. It’s not necessary.”

“Only babies and old people can’t bathe themselves,” she scoffs. “People with injuries, too, I guess. But I’m not supposed to be like that.” She gestures at her athletic little body. “Look at me. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And it won’t be for long,” I assure her. “You’re strong, and you’re going to beat this. I don’t doubt that one bit.”

Johanna snorts and barely bothers to step around me on her way to the door. “That makes one of us.”

I grab her arm and spin her around before she can make it out. “You’re already doing so much better, Johanna,” I praise her. It’s usually a successful tactic. “I never thought a couple nights ago that I’d see you willingly touching water this soon.” I stare intently into her eyes and earnestly declare, “I’m really proud of you.”

She cackles mirthlessly. “For what? Letting someone wash my feet for me?” She snatches her arm away and glowers up at me. “Thanks, Everdeen, but I really don’t need your congratulations.”

“Hey!” I pin her against the doorframe before she can go anywhere. “You know all the victors are jumpy as hell. Being tortured could only make that worse. Trust me, Johanna, no one is judging you but you. And maybe you shouldn’t, either. This is not your fault, and I know that’s hard to accept, because it means you don’t have control. But you’re only human.”

“You’re the one who blames herself for every bad thing that happens in all of Panem,” she retorts weakly.

“Well, that’s because I triggered this whole fucking war,” I point out. Johanna cocks an eyebrow, so I shake my head and concede, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” She says this with a somewhat saucy grin, and I can’t tell anymore what kind of a rise she’s trying to get out of me. I decide to err on the side of sexual, because this is Johanna Mason, after all.

I narrow my eyes playfully and inquire, “Would you like that?”

Jo chuckles and reaches up to tousle my hair. “Now, I never said _that_.” She slips out of my grip while I’m distracted, and I’m left gaping at her in exasperation.

“You are fucking impossible.”

“That’s why you like me,” she smirks as she slinks away.

“That, and your cute butt!” I call after her. This only gets a laugh in response, but as soon as I’m dry I prove that it’s no laughing matter. I didn’t plan it that way, but when I reach the sleeping nook I find Jo bent forward, digging her sleeping clothes out of her drawer. I was going to wait until our legs were tangling in bed again to initiate something if she didn’t first, but this is too good to resist. I brush up behind her, get a grip on her hips, and roll my pelvis forward and into that cute little butt. Jo hums in approval and I tell her, “You know, I’m glad I gave you the second drawer.”

“Oh, really?” she chuckles.

“Mm,” I confirm. “I wasn’t kidding about that butt.”

She peeks over her shoulder and winks. “Should I put my stuff in the third drawer, maybe?”

I consider this for a moment, but ultimately decline, “Nah, then you’d have to squat and that defeats the purpose.”

“I dunno…” Jo bends over farther to reach the bottom drawer, bumping her ass into me on the way down. I gasp involuntarily and grind against her, tightening my grip on her hips. She straightens up partway to rest her forearms on the dresser, but I push her down flat against it before she can get settled. “Fuck, Katniss,” she breathes.

“We’re getting there,” I promise her. She makes a point of turning her head to glare at me over her shoulder.

“You can’t just turn my words around on me,” she protests.

“Why not?” I ask with faux innocence. “Revenge is so very sweet.” She starts to struggle in my grip, so I drag her around to the side of the dresser so I can fully pin her torso to its top lengthwise. When she wriggles yet again, I press one arm to her back and lean forward to apply more pressure. I grab her shirt roughly, lower my mouth to her ear, and hiss, “Stay down!”

From the way Johanna moans at that, I’m guessing she doesn’t mind me turning things around on her after all. But I suppose she has to at least pretend, because when her pants and underwear have fallen to the floor and my fingers are buried deep inside her, thrusting against that sensitive spot without mercy, she makes an effort to pant, “You’re gonna pay for this, Everdeen.” My groin immediately throbs at that promise. And, knowing Johanna, it’s one she’ll keep. I squeeze my fistful of fabric tighter and answer honestly.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to District 7 Profanity for providing all sorts of inspiration and insights into Johanna's psychology. Her thoughts have mingled well with mine and helped me with Jo's character development and actions in this and my upcoming chapters. And, of course, thanks for the beta read.


	13. A Private Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is often the case, parts of this chapter are taken directly from canon and elaborated on.

Johanna is the very picture of a predator in the wild. It’s downright impossible to drag my eyes from her figure as she slinks so naturally between the trees, her fingers twitching on her axe handles in anticipation of a strike. I know I should be taking advantage of my precious two hours out here and doing some hunting myself, but instead I’m lounging back against a tree, unarmed, gawking in both admiration and arousal as she stalks a nearby group of rabbits.

My limited hunting time is at least partially by choice; we opted to skip it and report for a full day of training yesterday to keep up our fitness and, more importantly, Soldier York’s faith in us. We’re down to about a week before the invasion is set to begin, so I’m feeling the pressure to hunker down and get in my best form so I can pass the exam, if I even get the chance to take it. We’re back out here today because I want Johanna to have her best shot of joining me, and the first time we went hunting, it proved very therapeutic for her. That was probably more the influence of simply being aboveground than the hunting itself, actually, although I’m sure our other activities didn’t hurt. We can get into it in our compartment anytime, of course, but we are always limited by the consequences of a lack of space, such as small beds and plenty of neighbors. With the forest to ourselves, there was no need for physical or verbal restraint, and we ended up tumbling on the forest floor like a pair of savages, growling, clawing at each other’s clothes but not bothering to remove them because we lacked the patience for that. 

Admittedly, I had ulterior motives for coming back here today, but I justified them by reminding myself that privacy is such a rare luxury for me. It has been ever since I was reaped, of course, but living in District 13 is especially bad, being stuffed underground and almost constantly observed. I deserve a chance to let loose. With that in mind, I return my attention to my partner just in time to see her cock her weapons. Her back is turned to me, so I can’t see the focus in her eyes that can turn my legs to jelly and my groin to a fire pit in a matter of seconds, but I do spy one of her biceps bulging below the short sleeve of her training shirt, and that does the trick. My eyes devour the muscles of her back and the sweat dripping down her neck as she so gracefully whips her axes through the necks of two of the rabbits, then hits her wrists against her hips to order their return. It’s amazing, the effect she can have on me, the way my self-control just slips away and I don’t even try to cling to it. For all my talk about keeping it together, I yearn to fall apart. And right now, I want nothing more than to disintegrate under her hands and her lips, her fingers and her tongue.

“Not bad, eh?” When Johanna turns to me, the axes back in her grasp, I am already on my feet and stalking toward her purposefully. My expression must blatantly state my intentions, because her jaw slackens in lust but she holds up an objecting hand. “Katniss…” I dip my hands under the axe between us to grip her hips and walk her backward. “Katniss, we’re supposed to be hunting,” she protests weakly. I move a hand to the back of her head to cushion the impact between it and the tree I’ve chosen, then use it to wrest the axe from her hand. She stares at me with a clear mixture of disbelief and desire written on her face as I turn and lodge the weapon deep in the bark of a tree twenty yards away. Even I am impressed, given my average performance with these axes in the hummingbird room. I turn back to my speechless lover, pin her hips to the tree and move my lips to her ear.

“I am hunting,” I rasp. Johanna lets her head fall back against the trunk and releases a sound somewhere between a gasp and a mewl. Part of me wants to trace the shell of her ear with my tongue and suck on the earlobe to torment her, but her reaction has set me completely ablaze and I can’t wait a moment longer. I tug the hem of her shirt away from her skin so I can run my hands up her bare stomach to her breasts. She moans and drops her other axe, grabs my jaw and forces my mouth to meet hers in a heated kiss. Our tongues immediately begin a passionate dance, and I barely have the presence of mind to pull my hands out of heaven for a moment to remove Johanna’s wrist cuffs. I smirk at her aroused confusion. “Safety first,” I explain, crouching to lay them gingerly on the ground partway around the trunk. I take my time sliding up her body as I return to standing, letting my hands take in everything along the way. “Don’t want any rogue axes lodging themselves in our heads.”

“I don’t think that’s what they meant when they taught us about ‘safe sex,’ you know,” she snickers, fumbling to remove my communicuff. It hasn’t even hit the dirt before I seize her lips again and start dragging the fingertips of my right hand down her stomach in an attempt to make her back arch. When it does, I sneak my left hand around to the clasp of her bra strap. It catches only once this time before I am able to free it and eagerly move my hands up to claim my prize. Jo gasps at my touch and fights to control her face enough to cock an eyebrow. “You’re getting faster at that,” she remarks breathlessly, her face contorting again as I repeatedly sweep my thumbs over her now very prominent peaks. I smirk and move my mouth to whisper in her ear again.

“I had a great teacher.” I pinch her nipples and give them a small tug, drawing another moan from the girl. When I progress to rolling them between my fingers, her eyes squeeze shut and the top of her head digs into the bark.

“Oh god…” she breathes, “Katniss…” I viciously attack her exposed neck with my mouth while sliding my hands down her sides. She starts to whimper at the loss of contact until I hook my hands under the curve of her ass and lift her so her thighs can lock around my waist. They do, tightly. I return my hands to her chest and begin rhythmically rolling my hips into her and the tree – much to her delight, as evidenced by the string of profanity that escapes her lips. I continue the assault on her neck, and am pleased to discover that if I crane my neck I can reach behind her ear with my tongue. Her groans and the tipping of her head indicate that she is also very pleased, and I can’t help but grin. I consider pointing out that this is working much better than it did up against our compartment door, due to the reversed height differential, but conclude that that would likely leave me with no option but to tend to my own needs. Johanna is adorably sensitive about her small stature, not to mention stubborn as all hell, and I can’t risk it.

A particularly impassioned groan draws my attention back to Jo’s mouth, and I meet her lips fiercely. I give one especially hard thrust and strain to keep my pelvis pressed up against her. She moans into my mouth at the prolonged pressure, in turn eliciting one from me, and before I know it, my right hand has descended to the edge of her pants. I pull my hips back to give myself space and battle my way past the tight waistband to land my fingers in the flood of arousal in her underwear. I glide a fingertip along her sodden slit and groan, my eyes rolling back in pleasure at the intoxicating sensation. Johanna breathes a high gasp right beside my ear as I lightly circle her clit, keeps panting when I start to trace more fingers up and down the slick runway.

“Fuck, Johanna.” The combination of her escalating breathing and her vice grip around me with her legs would be enough to blind me with lust even without the addicting feeling of my fingers sliding so easily against her folds, but with it my crotch is burning unbearably and I have just about lost any last shred of self-control I have. “You’re so wet,” I sigh, pushing two fingers forward to dip just inside her entrance. I barely register her breathless chuckle.

“No kidding, brainless.”

Maybe I would laugh for the sake of nostalgia if I weren’t so preoccupied. Instead, I cup my whole hand around her sex and slowly drag it upwards, causing her to whimper and effectively shutting her up. My hand exits her pants and leaves a glistening trail as I slide it over to her hip. “I want you so bad,” I husk into her ear, punctuating this with a moan and a squeeze of her hipbone and breast.

Johanna bucks her hips against me and tangles her hands in my hair, letting out this delicious mewl of desire. “Then take me.” The older girl tugs on my dark locks, forcing my face out of her neck and up in her direction. Even in my years growing up in the impoverished Seam, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such desperate immediate hunger and need in a person’s eyes. It only augments my own. “Katniss, take me,” she practically begs.

In an instant, I have ripped her legs from around my waist and dropped to my knees. I practically tear the button off her pants in a frenzied rush to unfasten them. The zipper jams halfway down, of course, but the pants are just loose enough now that I can yank them over her hips and to the ground. I peel off her dark grey underwear and am about to drop it, but when I catch sight of what I was just feeling moments ago, another desire briefly overtakes my original one and I press my face into the material. I inhale deeply and, acting purely on impulse, slurp some of her cum into my mouth. “Oh my god,” gasps Johanna. She starts to reach for my head, but I am already moving to bury my face between her legs.

I could spend hours here, but I’m too riled up now to take anything slow. I quickly tire of drawing circles over her clit with my tongue, so I take it into my mouth and rub it aggressively to match the suction of my lips. Johanna’s pitch and volume spike and she caresses my head encouragingly, so I continue with gusto. I am probably moaning more than she is, not that it’s especially audible at the moment. Nothing has ever felt so amazing, so I completely surrender my consciousness to the powerful sensations of Johanna Mason. Her distinctive taste and smell. Her desperate whimpers and delightful moans reverberating in my ears. The oddly enjoyable pain of having my follicles all but ripped from my scalp. Her glutes flexing against my fingers, the warm liquid dripping off my chin, her clit swelling beneath my tongue. My eyes have been screwed shut in concentration, but when I peel them open to get a visual, I can make out her head thrown back in pleasure beyond her wrists that are partially blocking my view. The lone sensation I’m aware of that is not directly Johanna is the agonizing burn between my legs, but to be fair, she’s the one causing it. It becomes more and more overwhelming and insufferable as the minutes drag on, and eventually I have to drop a hand from her ass and into my own pants because I just can’t bear to wait a second longer.

I’ve barely managed to take the edge off my own needs by the time Jo’s legs are trembling almost to the point of giving out, and I roll my eyes because I know she needs the support of both my arms. I kind of want to yell at her for selfishly tearing me away from my newest activity, but she seems so lost in her own pleasure, I’m not sure she even noticed what I was doing. Despite using both palms to push her up against the tree, I can’t quite provide the necessary force, and there’s a lot more weight on my face than I’m comfortable with. This would be the most mortifying way to die. It takes me only a few seconds to come up with a better idea.

“What are you doing?” Johanna pants with huge, hungry eyes and parted lips as I drop my butt to my heels and start tearing at her pant leg that’s not secured by an ankle tracker. The fabric won’t fit over her boot, so I rip it from her foot and send it flying.

I make eye contact, now jerking the clothing from her leg. “You wanna be executed as a traitor for snapping the Mockingjay’s neck?” She squints down at me, clearly unable to comprehend my plan. I don’t waste time explaining it with words, I just slide her knee over my shoulder.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes just as I’m moving to do the same with her other knee. I guess she’s clued in. I get a foot under me and start to stand slowly, leaving Johanna’s pants and underwear dangling from her right ankle. There’s a branch maybe seven or eight feet up that she can at least attempt to hold onto once I’m standing, but I need to avoid bumping her head into it on the way up. I don’t want to even out our concussion tally, at least not like this. Once my feet are planted and she has a grip on the branch, we return our free hands to our respective favorite places.

We lost a bit of build-up during the change of positions, but Jo is back to writhing against my face a couple of minutes later, and I’m much more free to enjoy it with her weight now resting on my shoulders. Her fingers are tight around the base of my braid, or whatever’s left of it at this point, and assisting the slight motion of my head. My crotch is killing me again, and I think it’s high time I finish her off. I release one of her nipples, as much as we are both enjoying that, so I can slide those fingers inside her. She grunts loudly and her hips almost immediately begin shaking. I don’t fuck her quite as hard as I could because I am relishing the loud cries and moans she normally has to muffle, but when they turn to screams I can no longer hold back from pumping furiously and sucking like a starving baby on her mother’s teat.

“Katniss! Shit!” The smaller victor starts to fall forward a bit despite her grip on the branch, so I flatten my remaining palm against her chest in my best attempt to hold her upright. I might be the one to fall first, for lack of air, but I’m not stopping now, not now that she’s started screaming my name on repeat. Her pelvis suddenly jolts against my face and she makes truly the sexiest sound I have ever heard. I moan into her folds in response and suck a few deep breathes into my nose, easing up a little with my tongue and fingers but not stopping until I feel her slump back against the tree, breathing heavily. I grin and move my wet hand to help support her torso again, but keep teasing her clit with my tongue as it continues to pulse to the beat of her whimpers. I eventually expand my target area, cleaning up with suction and long swipes, adding a kiss here and there. She reacts to me planting one right on her clit with a little sigh of pleasure, so I wrap my lips around it again and give it a few soft sucks. “Mm, Katniss.” I direct my eyes upward and see her beaming in contentment. She affectionately strokes her thumb over my hairline. “Let me down.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice, because I know that that signals the start of my turn. I slowly return to my knees, easing her down the trunk. When her feet are firmly on the ground, I stand up again as quickly as I can without getting woozy. Jo laughs and plants her strong hands on my ribcage, steadying me before leaning in to meet my lips. She kisses me slowly but deeply, savoring the taste of herself on my tongue. She disengages with a crafty grin and playfully licks some cum from my cheek, but it only riles me up more. I growl, wrap my left leg around her hip, and use it to pull her tightly against my body. She cocks an eyebrow. “Feeling a little impatient, are we?”

“Yes,” I whisper hoarsely. I would normally throw that sass right back at her, but I need her to be touching me this instant, and I’ll say or do whatever it takes to speed up the process. A shudder of pleasure traverses my spine and crash-lands between my legs just at the sight and feeling of her hands unzipping my pants. I let my leg slide down her butt a little, but then she suddenly yanks my hips toward her and steps back against the tree, pinning my foot between her and the wood.

“Easy access,” she smirks, pulling my leg up so it’s around her waist again. She slips her right hand into my underwear and traces a finger over my sopping, burning folds. “And you said I was wet,” she chuckles. I whimper and burrow my face into her neck, so she wraps her free arm around me in a comforting gesture and pulls her hand back a little to reach my clit.

I gasp and tremble upon first contact, soon dissolving into whimpers of pleasure as Jo keeps gently massaging the aching nerve bundle. It feels so fucking good, at least at first, because it’s bringing me some immediate relief. But soon, I find myself rocking my hips and whispering, “More, Jo. Faster.” I can feel her grinning into the side of my head as she speeds up her hand but sadistically neglects to increase the pressure. I set my jaw and growl, “Harder.”

Johanna slows down again and leans her head back against the tree trunk so I can see her smug little face. I pull away a little too and glare daggers at her. Not all the heat in my cheeks is from lust anymore. “You want it harder?” she taunts me.

“Johanna, stop it,” I snap. “Just fuck me, already.”

“What’s the magic word?”

I slap her, so hard her head whips around. I regret it immediately, sort of. That wasn’t planned. Johanna turns back to me slowly, face full of shock, not to mention a bright red handprint that she lifts a hand to in disbelief. I lean back in so we’re eyeball to eyeball. “Fuck me, _please_.”

I think I actually see Johanna’s nostrils flare the instant before she jams her fingers inside me. My resulting sharp cry is from surprise as much as pain. I don’t know how many fingers that is, but it’s definitely more than one. “You asked for it,” she hisses, pumping her hand with the force she previously withheld. This isn’t what I expected or precisely what I was asking for, but hey, at least I got her to listen. I grab her shoulders and squeeze her harder with my leg to drive her deeper, surprising both of us. This is not my usual poison, but the last thing I want is for her to stop. I want to feel the raw power of the strong, pugnacious lumberjack who has me in her clutches.

“Fuck,” I grunt, tightening my abs and starting to rock opposite her thrusts, increasing their force.

Johanna narrows her eyes. “You wanted it hard, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” I breathe, twisting her sleeves into my fists. Jo picks up her pace and a bunch of involuntary sounds start pouring out of my mouth, many of them curse words. It feels mostly good despite the lingering pain, but it gets frustrating after a while because I don’t feel myself moving closer to orgasm very fast, if at all.

“I bet I know why you were so rude before,” says Johanna. I lift my head and try to shoot her a dirty look, but I’m not really able to control my face at the moment. “You got so turned on by fucking me and you really needed to come.” Johanna slides her free hand up my burning neck to cup my jaw. “Is that it, Katniss?” she coos. “Do you need to come?” I whine in frustration and pick up the motion of my hips to try to get closer on my own, but it’s fruitless. Jo’s purposely withholding one very important thing. She digs her nails into my mandible, forcing me to look at her again. “What was that?”

“Yes,” I say weakly. She raises an eyebrow and slows down. I instantly tighten my grip on her shirt and start to babble, “Yes, yes, I need to come. Please.”

Jo looks me dead in the eye and moves her hand forward to weave her fingers into the hair at the base of my skull. “Are you going to be good now?” she growls, tightening her fist. With that, I feel a bump against my clit. She must be angling her hand differently or something, but she switches back before I can get any more stimulation.

Maybe I would normally try to save some of my dignity, but between how desperate I am for release and how sexy Johanna is when she’s being authoritative, I couldn’t care less. “I will,” I promise. “I’ll be good.” She nods, seemingly satisfied, but she doesn’t change what she’s doing. I plead with her with my eyes, but it has no effect on her. Neither does rocking my hips harder. “Please,” I whine. Still nothing. “Please, Johanna, I’m begging you.”

The girl’s eyebrows shoot up and her mouth quirks. “You’re begging me, Katniss Everdeen? Did I hear that correctly?” I whimper and nod. I’m trying to speak, but I’m having a hard time working around the grunts and cries still falling from my lips. She smiles and finally takes pity on me, changing the angle of her hand again. Some cross between a yelp and a sigh of relief shoots out of me at the new contact, and I look down. It’s hard to see clearly, but I think she’s bumping and rubbing the soft side of her knuckles against my nub. Only two knuckles, which I probably should have guessed.

I’m surprised I haven’t ripped Johanna’s shirt yet, what with how tightly I’m twisting and pulling it. My hips are shaking involuntarily more than purposefully now, and I’m not sure how much longer my one leg can hold out, but I strain to stay upright so Johanna can finally drive me into ecstasy. She changes something again, sending tingles through my body. It looks like she’s doing something with her thumb now, but I don’t even care what she’s doing. I only care that it works.

“Fuck, Johanna!” I scream. “Fuck! Fuck!” I can finally feel it coming on, I think. I need it to, because my moans are only getting louder but my throat and groin are only getting sorer. Johanna groans into my neck and licks a trail over my collarbone, then sinks her teeth into the meat of my shoulder. It is that precious move, that possessiveness and pain, that slams me with a head rush and an explosion in my core and between my thighs. I scream louder than I expect, which is saying a lot. It’s easily the hardest I’ve ever come. My leg finally gives out and starts to crumple under me, but Jo catches my ass on the way down. She’s not big enough to support all of my weight in this position, but she fights gravity enough to give us a soft landing.

We’ve been lying there for a few moments, unmoving except for Johanna’s fingers, before she props herself up on her left arm. She pulls out and looks down on me with a strange expression. It looks vaguely like sheepishness, but that’s unlike Johanna. She flicks her eyes away silently, so I decide I’ll have to speak first.

I touch her pink cheek and ask, “You okay?” with a very raw voice.

Johanna blinks back my way, a small smile growing on her face. “Yeah.” She grazes her hand down my abdomen to my pubic bone. “You?”

I shrug and smirk, “I’ll walk it off.” Jo chuckles lightly and lies back down, resting her head over my still-pounding heart. I let my hands wander over her back, prodding and rubbing in opportune places, and she moans softly into my shirt. The sound and reverberation in my chest cause a spasm between my legs that mostly just makes me wince. It usually takes me much longer to be too sore to continue.

“How much longer do we have?” she mumbles. I tilt my head up a little so I can see her face, and catch a pair of adorable brown eyes gazing at me hopefully.

I chuckle inwardly and answer, “I’ll check the time.” I reluctantly wriggle out from under her limp body so I can grab the communicuff. I squint involuntarily at the sight of the lit message indicator. I hardly remember how to work the thing, but a few fumbled button presses later, I get the message to display.

**Return to compound upon receipt. Slds. Mason and Everdeen to report to Pres. Coin’s office ASAP, prior to resuming daily scheds.**

Jo must catch my surprised blink, because she probes, “What is it?”

“They want us back. Directive straight from Coin, sent twenty minutes ago.”

“Bullshit,” she sneers. “This is our time out here.”

I stand and secure the cuff around my wrist impassively, cloaking the anxiety that is doing a number on my gut. “You said it yourself, this is a privilege. Privileges can get taken away.”

Unlike me, Johanna doesn’t bother masking her worry. “What, you think Coin’s punishing you for something?”

“I meant we’re at her mercy,” I clarify. “And, no. She wants to meet with us in her office before we resume our regular schedules.”

“Both of us?”

I shrug and offer a hand to pull her up. “That’s what the message said.”

We take a few moments to gather our weapons and kills. And Johanna’s boot. She looks up from tying her laces and smirks, “You need to fix your hair. And wash your face.” I can only imagine.

“And whose fault is that?” I scoff. Jo just responds with an impish grin and bedroom eyes. Or is that forest eyes, now? Either way, I guess. I decide I’m better off for now just untying my hair than trying to fix the braid. Once I’ve smoothed my tousled mane and splashed some of my water over my mouth and chin, I turn back to her and inquire, “Now how do I look?”

Jo rakes her eyes over my whole form and quips, “Like you just got fucked.”

I pitch my canteen at her. She bobbles it but doesn’t drop it. “Helpful as ever, Mason.”

She chuckles and comes closer, tossing the bottle into the bag. “Here,” she offers, adjusting my shirt so it covers my waist and the bite mark that is just starting to blossom on my shoulder. I return the favor by smoothing her crinkled shirtsleeves, or at least attempting to. She gives me another once over and nods in satisfaction. “Am I all good?” she asks, pointing both hands at her own body.

“Yeah, it’s not like you were the one getting your hair pulled,” I point out. 

Jo gives me the look again. “I wouldn’t have stopped you,” she purrs. “For future reference.”

I roll my eyes and try not to grin. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” I turn to head back to the fence before I get too tempted to take her up on that offer.

“Wait,” she says, grabbing my arm. Before I can ask why, she pulls me into one last embrace that is explanation enough. We have so few moments in any given day when we can be openly affectionate with each other in this way, other than our evenings at home. This is our last chance to refuel for the day. So I let her relax into me and press her face into my neck, despite Coin probably being pissed enough over our tardiness already. I let myself escape into her warmth one more time before jumping back into our harsh reality. Johanna reluctantly backs out of my arms after a minute or so, but her hand clings to mine while we make our way back to the district boundary. She drops it to her side when we get within sight of the guards. I feel its absence in my whole body immediately.

We almost get bowled over by Soldier Kearns as soon as we pass the fence. Our class must be in the middle of the five-mile run, much of which is around the perimeter of the district. As usual, his long legs have him well out in front of the rest of the group. Though, lately, I’ve been quite literally giving him a run for it. “Sorry,” he pants after barely dodging us.

Johanna wolf whistles and calls after him, “Go, Twiggy, go!” She cackles as she watches the boy’s speedy retreat, but then suddenly stops, her face ashen.

“What, Jo?” I probe, my brow creasing. She opens her mouth as though to speak, but ends up just looking at me and then past me, eyes full of concern. I turn my head to find whatever she’s staring at. A surge of panic crashes over me when my eyes settle on the blond boy working out with a nearby group of tributes. Soldiers, I mean. Young soldiers. He’s lost some of the muscle mass I remember from school, but he can still pound out pushups like they’re nothing. His guards are standing close by, ready to intervene should he snap, but his manacles are off. I’m not sure if Peeta Mellark with unchained hands will ever stop freaking me out.

“You are fucking kidding me,” I vaguely hear Jo spit out behind me. I stand there, frozen and mute, until the grounding contact of her hand on my arm sucks me back into the world. Not that I want to be here. “Katniss? Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” I start striding purposefully toward the entrance, and Jo has to hightail it to keep up on her short legs.

“Katniss–”

“What the hell are they thinking?” I snarl. “If a spat with Delly can reduce him to arguing with himself, he's got no business learning how to assemble a gun.”

“I agree. I’m worried enough about him coming anywhere near you just with his hands.”

I glare at her out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t need to be reminded of that again. “I thought you and Peeta were allies.”

“We are,” she confirms, “in a sense. But he can’t think clearly when he’s around you.”

“He’s not the only one,” I scoff. “How can I be expected to focus on training for the invasion when the boy who tried to kill me is running around with a gun? I have enough nightmare material already.” It’s good I’m slated to meet with Coin already. I can kill two birds with one shot.

We make the detour to drop our kills at the kitchen and weapons at the armory, then head straight for Coin’s office. I’m just cresting the steps up to that level when I catch sight of the Head Gamemaker’s back about to disappear around a corner. “Plutarch!” I holler. “Hold up.” Catching him is even better than boiling over at Coin. She has more sway overall, but this whole thing reeks of Plutarch, feels like some kind of poorly-executed publicity stunt.

“Katniss,” he beams, “good to see you! How is everything?”

I scoff. “It was great until about fifteen minutes ago.”

He looks between our angry faces, apparently in confusion. “Something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, Plutarch,” sneers Johanna. “Why the fuck is Peeta Mellark out there training? So he can blow the Mockingjay’s brains out before she even gets to the Capitol?”

“You’re not seriously considering sending him into battle, are you?” I demand. “He’s too unstable. He’d be a danger, not just to me, but to everyone around him.”

Plutarch raises his hands in a calming gesture. “I assure you, it's all for the cameras. Cressida’s crew has footage of Annie marrying Finnick and Johanna hitting targets, so it’s obvious they are safe and on our side. But for all the country knows, Peeta died in the rescue mission, or maybe we’re holding him as a prisoner of war and a traitor.” I shuffle my feet, chewing on the inside of my cheek. That scenario’s a little too close to what might have happened were it not for my deal with Coin. “They need to see he's fighting for the rebels, not for Snow.”

“That’s fair,” I mutter with a sigh. “He’s very influential.”

“Indeed,” nods Plutarch. “If the people see him going back on what he said in his interviews with Caesar, it will nullify those words. Of course, all the districts are on our side now, but it can only help morale.” He leans closer and lowers his voice. “And it can only help the rebellion’s opinion of him. Even with the Mockingjay Deal, there’s nothing to stop people from going rogue, assassinating those they view as traitors.”

My heart seizes in my chest. “No,” I breathe. “No, they can’t kill Peeta.”

“If we play this right, they won’t,” he assures me. “If we give the public reason to believe he said what he did under duress, then the worst they can call him is a coward. No one would kill him for that.”

“That’s fucking rich,” Johanna steams. Her face and neck are reddening by the second, her lips twitching. “You try being locked in a cell and subjected to near-constant physical and psychological torture for months, Plutarch, and then we’ll talk about cowardice.” My stomach instantly constricts with a pain equivalent to being punched. I feel the blood draining from my head and I have to pray I don’t faint, clutching Johanna’s shirt to steady myself. 

“I’m merely talking about how the public perceives him, Miss Mason,” Plutarch explains gently. “Perception is everything, and that’s where the propos come in.” He returns his gaze to me. “Speaking of which, Katniss, there’s something I wanted to suggest.” I blink in reply. “It would be very helpful if we could maybe just get a couple of shots of you and him, not kissing necessarily, just looking happy to be back together–”

I walk away from the conversation right then. That is not going to happen. Even if it weren’t for Johanna, that wouldn’t happen. As I round the doorway into the office, I can hear her behind me, growling, “You people are unbelievable.” Coin is sitting at the near end of the conference table and she makes eye contact as soon as I come in the door, but I wait the few seconds for Jo to join me before letting the door swing shut behind us and fully entering the room.

“Soldiers Everdeen and Mason, at long last,” the President greets us with what is probably a sarcastic cheeriness in her tone. She gestures across the table from her. “Do come in.”

I approach warily, Jo on my tail. “Should we have a seat?” I ask, bracing my hands on the back of one of the chairs across from her. I’m surprised she didn’t order us to sit in the first place.

“You may, if you wish, but I don’t expect this meeting to take long,” she replies. Her tone turns icy when she adds, “Good thing, too, considering you took twenty minutes to even respond, much less get here.”

I drop my eyes to my hands and start picking at one of my cuticles. “Yes, I–”

“Removed your communicuff, as you did last time,” she interrupts, bringing my gaze back up. “I’m aware.” My eyes bulge. I had no idea they had a way of knowing that. Then again, I’m not exactly Beetee. “Not that it surprised me either time, given your propensity for disregarding orders, Soldier Everdeen, but I expected that you would not be too… distracted, shall we say say, to check it more often.”

I don’t like where this conversation seems to be headed, and am suddenly feeling the urgent need to get out of here as soon as possible. “I’ll keep it on from now on, President Coin.”

She smiles. “I’m glad to hear that, Soldier.” Well, at least she didn’t say there’s wouldn’t be a next time. “It is imperative that we stay in constant communication anytime you are outside of the district boundary. We have some concerns about your safety.” I almost laugh aloud at this. She must be aware that Peeta has started training; in fact, she probably had to approve it. And if anything spells danger for me, it’s Peeta. But she can’t be talking about him, because he doesn’t have access to the woods. No, unless she truly thinks that I’m an incompetent hunter or there are Peacekeepers roaming the woods outside Thirteen, I know what she’s on about.

“Then you’re looking in the wrong place,” I say pointedly. “Johanna’s not the one who tried to str–”

“Oh, it’s not Soldier Mason we’re worried about, rest assured.”

My brow furrows. “Then…”

“Over your last two hunts, data from your tracker anklet have been indicating an increased sympathetic response above baseline, Soldier Everdeen.” I stare blankly at her, so she clarifies, “Compared to the usual, there has been an increased fight-or-flight response, as one may say.” Oh, shit. “This is common in situations involving fear. We’ve also noticed that these responses are nearly synchronized with those of your hunting partner.” I begin to feel my ears and cheeks prick with oncoming heat. Coin flicks her eyes between the two of us and leans back in her chair slightly. “Have you two discovered some new danger lurking on the perimeter of the compound that District security forces need to be made aware of?”

I am already a deep shade of crimson, I’m sure of it. There is no way she actually believes that. But if this is how to avoid the actual conversation we should be having, I can play along. “No, Madame President,” I manage to gulp out.

“Hm,” she muses, “so respectful. It suits you. It’s a sad wonder I haven’t had the opportunity to notice that before now.” I feel Johanna’s body tense beside me, and instinctively touch her side in warning. Whatever she has to say will surely not get me out of this meeting any faster or keep this discussion mercifully subtextual. The president glances from my hand on Jo’s waist back to my face. “I am glad to hear that there is no impending threat to worry about. In that case, you may of course resume your hunts within the allotted radius.” Her voice somehow grows colder. “However, I am not convinced that this is an optimal use of your training time, Soldiers. If you both are still so keen on being a part of the invasion, I would suggest you keep your workouts to those sanctioned by Soldier York.” I just about choke on my own spit. Coin notices, and I see a flicker of a smirk cross her face. “If you do choose to continue hunting, I would caution you to remember that this privilege is not afforded to everyone, and it should be used wisely. Living underground has been a difficult adjustment for everyone originating from other districts, but not everyone has the leverage to acquire special privileges.” Her deathly pale eyes bore into mine. “Don’t abuse your status, Soldier Everdeen, or our hospitality.”

Threats and shame, to top it all off. It’s all I can do not to bolt out the door like I did so often early in my stay in Thirteen. I twist Johanna’s shirt between my fingers in an effort to ground myself, much like I learned to do with Finnick’s rope. I fight to keep eye contact with the president for the sake of my pride, but I can’t help but swallow under her penetrating stare.

Coin catches both of our eyes in turn before asking, “Any questions?” I shake my head sharply. My only question is how soon I can get the hell out of here, hopefully avoiding any more embarrassment. Unfortunately, Johanna has other plans.

“Just one, Madame President,” she pipes up with a notable sarcastic edge. She steps closer to Coin and leans over the table between them, planting her hands on its lit surface. “Would you like us to smile for the cameras next time?”

“Johanna!” I groan, and not in the way I’ve become accustomed to doing so lately.

Coin, for her part, appears more amused than ruffled. “If you wish, Soldier Mason, so long as next ‘hunting trip’ you spend more time beheading rabbits and less time behaving like one.”

Johanna smirks. “Who knew the president had a sense of humor, Katniss?” she drawls, not bothering to look at me. She’s still busy challenging Coin with her eyeballs.

“Mason!” I hiss, giving her shirt an abrupt tug. “Let’s go.” I turn and stride for the door as quickly as possible without giving the impression of a hasty retreat. 

“You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen,” Coin’s voice rings out from behind me, stopping me in my tracks. I begrudgingly turn around. I hate that now that I want something from her, I have to listen to her. She could ground me in Thirteen in the blink of an eye, and we all know it.

I straighten up, out of what is actually defiance but I hope can be reasonably misconstrued as respect. “Is there something else, President Coin?”

She looks between us one more time, and I can’t tell if she’s thinking or if she’s just stalling us out of spite. Finally, she says, “No, that will be all. You are both dismissed.”

Johanna barely waits until we’ve escaped the room to spit, “Man, is that bitch on a power trip or what?”

“Shut up!” I snap.

The other girl’s face contorts in confusion. “What?”

I duck my lips to her ear and aggressively hiss, “Why would you say a thing like that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“No, not that. I meant…” My eyes dart around to scout out any bystanders. There are none, but I still keep my voice low when I clarify, “Your question.”

“Oh,” she blinks, seemingly taken aback. “I wanted to know if there are cameras out there or if she really got all that off the ankle trackers. For future reference.” She shrugs. “The rabbit thing proved it.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t want to know! Now all I can think about is who might’ve seen it.”

“Relax,” she groans in an infuriatingly patronizing tone. “It’s not like I took your clothes off either time. No one saw you naked.”

“That’s not the point, Johanna. I’m not the one who’s known for lewd sexual behavior.”

She punches my shoulder and smirks, “First time for everything.”

“You’re not funny,” I tell her bluntly, with a disappointed headshake.

The amusement in Jo’s expression wavers, but still she grins, “It doesn’t feel as bad if you can laugh about it. You should try that sometime, Everdeen.”

“I’ll pass.” I throw her a frustrated glare and pick up my pace to put some distance between us. She doesn’t attempt to close it.

***

I wordlessly climb onto my bed and bury my face in a book when Johanna and I arrive home from a slightly awkward dinner. I’m not sure anyone else noticed the tension, because we were amiable enough, as we’ve been all day. I outwardly calmed down pretty quickly after that meeting with Coin, but I’m still pissed about Jo’s behavior, and I can tell she knows it from the guarded way she’s been observing me, from the lack of our usual magnetism. I don’t feel bad about it, because it’s warranted. I’m far from the least inflammatory person on the planet, but I at least try not to make bad situations worse. Johanna, meanwhile, likes to blow everything up. I’ve barely read two words before the book is snatched out of my hands and sent arcing through the air. Johanna looks me dead in the eye and demands, “Really? Are you gonna be like this all day?” I slide off my bed and stomp over to Johanna’s to retrieve the manual. Just as I’m reaching for it, she pulls me back and spins me around. “You’re seriously mad that I stood up to Coin for you?”

I bat her hand away. “Stood up for me? You mean mortified me?”

She cocks her head and condescends, “It was Coin who did that, brainless.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough already, and I just wanted to get out of there,” I complain emphatically. “Why draw it out by trying to provoke her?”

“She was pissing me off,” grunts Johanna.

“She was pissing me off, too!”

“That’s different,” she asserts. “She was attacking you; you can choose not to take it personally. All I could see was that bitch insulting the woman–” She falters and blinks the excess emotion from her face. “The woman I vowed to protect with my life. She attacks you, she’s attacking me too.”

“Oh, and _I’m_ the one who makes everything about _me_?” I snark. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!”

She scoffs dismissively. “Someone has to.”

“No.” I close in on her and jam two fingers under her collarbone. “You know what? I’ve had enough of your shit, Mason. You don’t get to tell me off for trying to help you, then turn around and tell me you know what’s best for me. I’m not a fucking child.”

I am used to Johanna Mason escalating conflicts and refusing to back down even if she knows she might be wrong, so it comes as a surprise when she lets out a heavy sigh and starts rubbing the back of her neck. “Okay, you’re right,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry.” She shrugs in defeat. “Happy?” I furrow my brow, and she rolls her eyes. “That’s what you wanted, right? An apology?”

“Yeah, but… I thought you were just being an asshole. For the sake of being an asshole, I mean.” Johanna huffs indignantly, but her eyes are smiling. I move my hand to her shoulder and explain, “I didn’t realize it was an attempt to back me up. Maybe you fumbled the execution a bit, but if anyone knows about that, it’s me.” I wryly quirk a corner of my mouth. “I can at least appreciate the sentiment.”

She just looks at me for a few seconds, but then her posture eases up and she walks into my arms. They secure her while she nuzzles into my neck, and I can’t help but sigh in relief. Holding her now, it feels like coming home after a long trip. I hate being at odds with Johanna. But I can’t escape my own fault in the matter, so I resolve to try to deal with problems in the moment instead of walking away for fear of it escalating, instead of shutting her out. It will take some effort. Shutting people out is one of my best-honed skills, and one of Johanna’s. What an ideal match, we are.

“She just made me really angry,” I hear and feel Johanna say into my neck.

I drop my gaze and meet her brown eyes inquisitively. “I thought it didn’t bother you. Isn’t that what you said?”

“No. I meant I was laughing it off, and so should you.” She sighs. “But it’s not really a laughing matter, is it? I do not trust that woman.”

I pull back a little to look her full in the face. “What, you think she’s gonna tell everyone?”

“No,” she scoffs. “Has Finnick taught you nothing?” I scowl irritably, but Johanna only partially drops the attitude when she continues, “Secrets are power. Coin’s not the type to give up power easily.”

“There are worse things you could be blackmailed with,” I say flatly, dropping my palms from her biceps. I brace them on her bedframe and lean back against it. I purse my lips, but when she raises a questioning eyebrow, I decide to open them. Deal with it now, don’t let it fester. Though, truly, this has been festering since I realized Finnick was in the dark. “I know we’re both fine with keeping this to ourselves, but is it really such a big deal if people find out?”

“You deserve a private life for a change,” she states bluntly. “We both do.”

I can’t help dropping my eyes at that response that far from mitigates my fears. I suck one of my cheeks between my teeth and watch my right foot as it firmly toes the floor. “I know you all think I’m young and stupid, but… are you ashamed to be with me, Jo?”

“No,” she immediately responds with surprise, pulling my eyes back up. “No, that’s not it, not at all,” she assures me, her tone and expression sincere. I make an effort to hide my sigh of relief, all the same. “They’re still dragging out the star-crossed lovers thing, remember? Maybe they could know here in Thirteen, but if word got out, what would that do to your credibility?”

She’s right, of course. When I asked to have Gale by my side during my bargaining session with Coin, the same argument sprang up and was resolved without my input. Maybe my role isn’t as crucial as it once was, as Coin pointed out, but Plutarch pushing for Peeta and I to be onscreen together made it very clear that my image is still central to the rebellion. Even though our fake baby is now known to be dead, me leaving my supposed husband so soon after rescuing him following his assault during a national broadcast, for someone who’s mostly known as a cold-blooded lunatic no less, would be a public relations disaster. My image as a defender of basic human morality and the savior of the oppressed would be irreparably tarnished; the script the Capitol and now Thirteen have written for me would be destroyed. I despise, perhaps now more than ever, how my life is no longer my own. 

“What’s the fun of a private life if it’s only private because it’s forced to be?” I grumble. “Maybe I want to be up front about who I… who I’m with.”

“I doubt that,” she rebuts calmly. I shoot her a glare, so she cocks an eyebrow and challenges me, “You’re the one who blushed like crazy in Coin’s office. You sure you’re not the ashamed one?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, really,” she insists. “You were all over the Muffin Man, and I know it wasn’t always for the cameras. But you’re afraid to touch me whenever anyone’s around to see it.”

“Maybe I’m just afraid you’ll bite my head off if I touch you in public," I retort. Today seems intent on ending with a fight, no matter my efforts to the contrary, so I don’t bother turning down the sass when I elaborate, “You always have to look so tough and cool, Mason. God forbid you show any real affection to anyone, ever.”

Johanna closes the gap between us, and I tense my muscles in anticipation of a physical altercation. But when she lays a hand on me, it’s gentle. She traces my jawline and neck with her fingers and coos, “Maybe you’re just afraid to burn bridges, hm?” She suddenly wraps my shirt around her fist. My eyes widen with alarm while hers narrow with venom. “You saw Peeta out there today, training, looking halfway sane. What if he got better, Katniss? Would you still want to be with me then?” Her hardened expression lapses momentarily. “Or am I just a distraction?”

I know Johanna well enough to recognize vulnerability when I see it, but I’m too shocked and offended to console her. “Where the hell is this coming from?” I bellow, straightening up to my full height and forcing her to take a step backward. “We talked about this, remember? I told you, I never loved him, and I wouldn’t want to be with him even if he recovered.”

“Easy to say when it looks like he’s lost to you,” she sneers, maintaining her aggressive hold on my shirt.

I stare at her in disbelief for several seconds. “You must think so little of me,” I finally croak. “You really believe I’m using you as a distraction, Johanna?” It was insulting enough when Haymitch insinuated the same of my motives, back before things really got started. Johanna should know better by this point. She should know by the tender way I hold her at night. She should know by the way I calm her tremors in the tub with soft, loving words and caresses of thumbs over thighs. She should know just by the goddamn way I look at her, like she’s the only thing I ever want to look at for the rest of my life. If she can’t see that, she has no business calling me brainless.

Jo drops her hand and marginally softens her eyes, but maintains her combative tone when she says, “Not necessarily, but it’s a question worth asking.”

“Why? When have I ever given you that impression?”

“You only really started warming up to me when you realized Peeta was a lost cause,” she states flatly. Oh, great. Not this bullshit again. “I could tell you were attracted to me ages ago, but when did you start coming to me for affirmation? When you stopped getting it elsewhere.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Why would anyone come to you for affirmation? You’re like the biggest bitch in Panem.” The smug smirk that my comment brings to her face reminds me that it’s probably a compliment to her. It also stokes my smoldering anger, so I jab a little deeper. “You purposely push everyone away because you’re a fucking coward who’s afraid to care about anyone.”

The instant I see a hint of pain distorting her expression, I regret digging for it. No, Johanna’s not the only one who likes to escalate our conflicts. She may be an agitator, but it’s not her fault I lack self-control when irate. She swallows, sets her jaw, and pointedly reminds me, “There’s a reason for that.”

I nod. “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Jo nods, appearing surprised but still scowling a bit. I return my hand to her shoulder and tackle the issue more directly. “Snow can’t hurt you here, Johanna. And even if he could, do you really think he knows about–” I halt mid-sentence as it suddenly clicks. That’s not what she’s worried about. I blink the focus back into my eyes. “You’re afraid Coin’s gonna use me against you, aren’t you? That’s your real issue.”

She twitches her eyebrows glumly. “Maybe you’re not so brainless after all.”

“Jo, I don’t exactly trust Coin either, but she’s not evil,” I assure her, now palming both her shoulders. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Gale and Beetee aren’t evil either, but didn’t you say they’re working on traps that do that exact thing? Prey on human emotions and connections?” she counters. I glare at the floor and notice my foot twisting over it again, attempting to bury my toe. Johanna is absolutely right, but I generally try not to think about my best friend coming up with creative ways to end human lives. It’s bad enough that I have so much blood on my own hands and can never escape that. Gale was never good and pure in the way that Peeta was, but the further he slides into these moral grey areas, the sicker I feel. “People will resort to all kinds of lengths to get what they want,” Johanna says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“That’s true,” I mumble. I look her in the eye again and sigh, “What do you want to do about it?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” she shrugs. “Going public would take the power of the secret from Coin, but it would just inform everyone else of how much they can hurt us with each other.”

“I don’t want you to be the next Peeta,” I say decisively, and then just as decisively lean in to kiss the surprise from her face. A few seconds in, I pull my mouth away enough to tell her, “I would never let that happen to you.”

“That’s not what I was worried about,” she chuckles.

“I know. But I trust the feeling’s mutual.” She nods, so I give her a few more pecks before proposing, “So, we stay under wraps?”

I startle and shudder at the feeling of Johanna’s hand sneaking up my stomach under my shirt. I pretend to glare, and she just grins. Her fingers trail around my ribcage to reach my bra’s clasp while she lifts her mouth closer to my ear and breathes, “In one sense of the phrase, yes.” She pauses suddenly. “Or are you still too sore?”

I smirk wryly. “You think I’m some kind of a wimp, Mason?”

She shakes her head and grins, “Never.”

***

It’s easy enough for me to sneak out of bed tonight. That’s partially because I’m spooning Johanna in her bed, so the only challenge is sliding an arm out from under her neck without rousing her. The other reason is that Johanna’s completely dead to the world. Earlier tonight, she summoned the courage to sit down in the bathtub for the first time since her rescue. Despite her relentless trembling, she insisted I wash her entire body. She still balked at the idea of getting any water on her head or face, but the triumphant grin she wore as she stood and exited the tub told me how proud she was anyway. She’s cleaner than she’s been in months, but is no doubt physically and emotionally exhausted from the ordeal.

I pause to reconsider at the door. I almost go snatch Buttercup from next door just so Johanna won’t be alone, but I don’t want to chance waking up the ever-vigilant Prim. Instead, I jam my feet into my shoes and whisper a promise to be back soon.

It takes Haymitch longer than I expected to answer my soft knock on his door. That’s explained when the door slowly slides open to reveal my mentor in only an undershirt and boxers, wiping sleep from his eyes. His bleary state at this hour is much more foreign and surprising than his attire. Not that I’m much better dressed, standing at his door in only my nightclothes and a jacket. Being fully awake, I at least remembered to put pants on before leaving. I apologetically mumble, “Sorry, I thought you’d be awake.”

“Well, I am now, so you might as well come in,” he growls, stepping aside to let me in. I oblige, with caution. Haymitch puts some effort into quietly sliding the door closed behind us, which is hardly like him either. I’m almost at his table when a rustling filters over from further into the compartment. My eyes go wide and strain to detect the source of the sound, and quickly make out a figure stirring under the covers. A quick glance to check that the other bed is made, and I’m looking back to Haymitch with eyes even wider than before. It seems Johanna’s not the only one taking advantage of the newfound freedom to take a lover without fear of retribution.

“Is that who I think it is?” I gasp.

Haymitch smirks and crosses his arms. “She did say she likes me better sober.”

“Oh my god,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Peeta will have a fit. He always said you two should–” I stop abruptly as it hits me that this is one more thing that will probably never come to fruition now. Peeta likely would not give a shit who Haymitch is sleeping with. He has much bigger problems. And, besides, I’m pretty sure he’s still angry with Haymitch for lying to us about the Quell. If I’m being totally honest, so am I. But he is the only person I feel comfortable talking to about this, and one of the few people I trust. Well, I trust him to give me an honest opinion, anyway.

“So did I,” Haymitch chuckles, easing himself down into one of the chairs.

I join him in sitting and grin saucily. “So, I’m not the only one with a secret affair going on.” My face falls and I blink in thought. “Or, ideally secret, I guess.”

He squints at me. “Word’s got out?”

“Video, apparently,” I huff.

Haymitch snorts. “I’m sure it’s in high demand.”

“Gross.”

He sits back and tosses a hand in the air. “Price of being a victor, sweetheart. Your private life is everyone’s business, remember?”

“I know all about the prices of being a victor, Haymitch.” I blink away. “Well, not as much as some of you, not personally.”

“Definitely not,” he concurs. He’s silent for a moment, but then leans forward to rest his forearms on the table. “So, what can I do for you, kid? If you’re looking for someone to corrupt or destroy data, Beetee’s down on floor 34, close to the action.”

“That’s an idea,” I mutter. “Doesn’t undo any damage already done, though.”

Haymitch narrows his eyes. “How did this even happen in the first place?”

“Uh…” I bite my lip and focus on my hands. “I took Johanna hunting with me and… things happened.”

“You’re really stupid.”

“Thanks,” I retort dryly.

My mentor shifts in his chair so he can cross his legs. It squeaks under his weight, and he immediately looks over his shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to have disturbed the woman in his bed. He turns back my way and concludes, “So this isn’t just anyone who knows about this, then? It’s Coin and her lackeys.”

“I don’t know exactly who, and I don’t really want to think about it. But Coin, for sure. We had a lovely chat this morning.”

“I’m sure,” he snorts.

I sit in silent contemplation for several seconds before finally getting to the point of the visit. “What do you make of her, Haymitch? Other than the prohibition, of course.” It’s frankly very strange to be talking to my mentor in the dead of night without a bottle. Different, but not bad.

“Why do you ask?”

“I guess…” I drum my fingers on the table while I gather my thoughts. “Johanna’s afraid that she might try to use us against each other. The way Snow used Peeta, the way he used your families and lovers. Threatening or hurting people we love to keep us in line.”

Haymitch’s brow creases and he scratches the hair at the corner of his mouth. “Well,” he muses, “President Coin is hardly the warmest lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, but she doesn’t strike me as cruel. But would she divide and conquer to keep her power? Quite possibly. I can’t really say. I don’t know her well enough.” He makes deliberate and reassuring eye contact. “But I don’t see how either of you pose a threat to her. And you’re both useful to the cause.”

“Not nearly as useful as I used to be,” I remind him.

“True, but again, she doesn’t seem the type to attack without reason.”

“Would she attack preemptively?”

“Probably. But again, why?”

“I don’t know why,” I admit. “It’s just… Jo had a bad feeling about it, and now so do I. I’ve never really trusted her.”

“Well, maybe you should try.” He doesn’t seem too sold on the idea himself, but he elaborates, “She does seem to have the best interests of the country in mind. Even if she has let the success get to her head a little.”

“So I’m not imagining that,” I mumble, glaring at the ground.

“No. But, sweetheart?” I blink back up. “You are hardly the person to go around judging others for their lack of humility.”

“Duly noted,” I snort. I fidget for a moment and finally conclude, “I should let you get back to sleep.” I look over his attire and snicker. “I’m not used to you sleeping at night, quite frankly.”

He smiles weakly and nods into the compartment. “It’s easier with her,” he admits. “I’m sure you understand.”

I involuntarily return his smile, but not weakly at all, which brings out a full-on smirk from my mentor. I blush and have to fight the urge to look down. “Yeah. I do.” I clear my throat and stand up. He follows suit. “Well,” I flick my eyes over toward his sleeping nook. “Give Effie my love.”

That smirk is instantly back in full force. “Now, I know you’re into older women, but Katniss–”

I punch him in the shoulder. “Jerk!” I hiss. He chuckles, but I continue to glare. “And Johanna is not that much older than me. Not even four years.”

“Seems like more when you’re younger,” he reasons. “But hey, if you love her–”

“I didn’t say that,” I interject.

“You did, indirectly. Not like I can’t tell anyway, doe-eyed little miss.” He laughs again at my indignant scowl and whispers, “Come here,” before pulling me into a hug. He smells way different sober, too. Better. Overall, he just seems better, in some intangible way, and I don’t think it’s just Effie. Maybe it’s like what Johanna said about being more present, and he only appears brighter because he’s experiencing life more fully. But, being more present doesn’t equate with being happier, as she insinuated. Experiencing the life of a victor is what drove Haymitch to drink in the first place. No, I realize, Haymitch actually is happier, and it’s not because he has a lover, it’s because he can. Forced sobriety is a small price to pay for freedom.

I can’t control the smile on my face when we split apart. Haymitch gives me a questioning look, so I shrug sheepishly and tell him, “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too, sweetheart.” He shows me to the door, and as I’m walking away, I hear him whisper, “Katniss?” I spin around and catch his eye. “Want some mentorly advice?” When I nod, he smirks and points a finger at me. “Don’t fuck it up.”

I tilt my head petulantly, but I’m grinning. Why wouldn’t I be? I finally have something in my life worth fucking up. “I’ll do my best,” I promise. I turn and resume walking, but not quickly enough to miss his final piece of advice.

“And for the love of god, stop having sex in public places.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually write gratuitous smut, so even though I did have plot-type reasons for including that scene, it may seem a little out of place. I hope not, though.
> 
> I was hoping to have this up a little sooner, but I spent much of the last two days tearing it apart and rebuilding it. Pitfalls of perfectionism. Many thanks to D7P for being the ruthless editor/beta that I need.
> 
> I know I said there would be no more long waits for awhile, but I'm planning to go back through the earlier chapters at this point to correct some mistakes (a few grammatical, but mostly aesthetic errors that I couldn't check because MJ1 was not released for sale yet). Also, I might pound out a chapter or two of Loyalty if I'm feeling more inspired for that. However, I'll be going on vacation in two weeks, so I'll have more time to decompress *and* more time to write, and that should help move things along.


	14. Gamemakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I did not mean to take nearly two months to update this. There were calls for updates to Loyalty, and I got on a roll with that fic and didn't want to end that without sort of completing the mini story arc there. Same thing here, wanted to leave it at a good point without a whole bunch of suspense or angst if I was going to be gone for a while. On that note, I'm glad to be back!
> 
> Of note, this is the first chapter in a long time in which I return to the original connected one shot format, skipping around or summarizing canon scenes, assuming you’ve read the book. I do that with scenes that play out the same way or with only small alterations that I can explain in narration. No need to waste words. There are still scenes that are adapted from the book and retain some of the original dialogue, of course.

I dance with the idea of enlisting Beetee’s help for two days before I finally bite the bullet. Johanna and I are hustling through breakfast when she catches me eyeing him from across the room.

“I can tell him all about it, if you want,” she offers.

I eye her warily. “Like the footage, or the tryst itself?” Johanna just winks and I roll my eyes and stand up. I’d better say something before she does. I chug the remainder of my juice then grab my empty tray, but Johanna catches my wrist.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, gesturing at what little food remains on her own tray.

“You’re so kind,” I deadpan.

Johanna chuckles and encourages me, “Just get it over with. Then you can stop being nervous.”

“I doubt it,” I argue, nodding at the table where he’s seated with Haymitch and Effie.

“You already told Haymitch,” Jo shrugs. “Besides, you don’t have to go into detail. Just tell him when and where to look and…” She smirks. “He’ll know what you want deleted when he sees it. And I’m sure he will, once he commits it to memory.”

I glare at her, hardly amused. “Johanna, you’re disgusting.”

“I would,” she winks. “Just saying.” I think she’s toying with me, trying to give me courage by pissing me off. It’s working. I throw her some more side eye as I stalk off toward the others. When I focus on my destination, I realize my escort and mentor are holding hands. Maybe their secret affair is not such a secret after all, and I was too wrapped up to notice. Wouldn’t be the first time.

My bravery is waning by the time I make it to the table, so I use what little I have left before it’s all gone, abruptly interrupting the conversation with, “Beetee, I need your help with something.” There’s already a dusting of rose in my cheeks, and it only darkens when my mentor snickers into his muffin. “Haymitch, you are not helping,” I chastise him. Before my nerves can convince me to flee, I regain eye contact with Beetee and inquire, “Are you able to delete District security footage?”

He raises his eyebrows, and I glance uneasily across the table at my smirking mentor and intrigued escort. I glare at Haymitch, who just turns his palm up and sweeps it around their corner of the table. I decide that I have little dignity left to lose at this point, so I return my gaze to Volts and elaborate, “There’s a sort of… compromising video of Johanna and I. Or two. In the forest.”

Beetee’s face is priceless. Not much blush shows through his dark skin tone, but he’s blinking rapidly and, though his mouth is open, he seems to be having trouble forming a response. I might be laughing if I wasn’t so embarrassed. I glance over at the other two and see Effie straining to cover her grin with her napkin. Haymitch elbows her and chuckles, “I know, explains a lot, right?”

“Shut up, Haymitch!” I snap.

Beetee is fiddling with his glasses in his lap when I turn back his way. “Um, I’m sure I’m capable of that,” he answers, blinking away from my eye contact, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” I deflate and make no effort to hide the depths of my disappointment. He just purses his lips and says, “It’s a crime, Katniss. And seeing as the victors’ immunity is contingent upon your performance as the Mockingjay, I’d rather not cross the likely next president of Panem.” I can suddenly feel the warmth returning to my cheeks, but not just from embarrassment this time.

“Well you’re hardly the most charming wheelbarrow in front of a camera either,” I scoff. I don’t think Beetee’s even covered by the Mockingjay Deal, but pointing that out is hardly going to convince him to help me.

“On the contrary, I have no doubt in your ability to move an audience,” he denies, slipping his spectacles back on. “But President Coin made it clear that you have to play by her rules in order for the deal to stand.”

I blink in confusion, and Haymitch clarifies, “He means you do whatever you want, even if it’s against direct orders.” He leans back in his chair and muses, “One would hope you’d have learned by now, considering you got shot last time, but I kind of doubt it.”

I raise a challenging eyebrow at Beetee. “So you’re afraid to help the figurehead of the rebellion because she’s too rebellious?”

“Remember which side you’re fighting for, Katniss,” Effie interjects in that gentle yet shrill way of hers.

I snort dismissively. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“You’re so very delightful today, sweetheart,” Haymitch observes dryly.

“Katniss, we’re gonna be late.” Jo is suddenly at my side and gripping my elbow. She sees Beetee blinking between the two of us and winks suggestively. “Hey, Volts.”

She guides me away, and when we’re out the door I shake my arm loose and demand, “What was that for?”

“You looked like you needed saving.”

I scoff indignantly. “Oh, so you can save me, but I can’t save you?”

Jo smirks into her collar and replies, “Correct.”

“Fuck you,” I grumble, hunching my shoulders to jam my hands in my hip pockets.

She chuckles to herself, but when she looks up at me again, Johanna is serious. “Don’t make enemies out of allies, okay?”

When we make it to the training field, Soldier York waves us over. “I’ve recommended you for the exam,” she says. “Both of you. You’re to report to the obstacle course immediately.”

I stand still in shock and delight for a second before a huge grin breaks onto my face and I laugh out of relief even more than joy. Jo bumps my biceps with her shoulder, excitement also gleaming in her eyes. We stand a chance now. I’ve been living off the idea of vengeance, but a niggling fear that it was too little too late prevented me from fully enjoying it. I didn’t want to get too excited.

“What do you say, Soldier Mason?” I drawl. “Wanna go kick some Capitol ass?”

“More than anything,” she affirms.

We fly through the obstacle course with ease and then head inside for the written tactics exam, which I already know we’ll both ace. Johanna finishes several minutes ahead of me, and I don’t see her face again until I’m exiting the indoor shooting range after my weapons test. I think it was her shooting up the targets two lanes to my left, and if so, she seemed to do okay. Nonetheless, shooting is probably her weakest point, so I’m relieved to see the smile on her face.

Despite it not being my thing, I make some small talk as we head down to the Block together for the final portion of the exam, because if I’m not talking I’ll be thinking, and if I think too much I’ll get nervous and fuck up. But as we near the briefing area, Jo finally broaches the obvious subject. “Finnick says you go through alone,” she says. “Did Gale tell you anything?”

“Same,” I confirm. “He had to search a home all by himself.”

“Finnick said he had to shoot his way out of an ambush scenario,” Johanna contributes.

I shove my hands deep in my pockets and muse, “Guess there’s no telling what they’ll throw us into.”

There’s a backlog at the Block when we arrive and start to gear up, which a girl I don’t know explains is due to some technical bug they’re working out. Well, I’m sure glad there’s a toilet nearby, because if I have to wait for an hour to go in, chances are I’ll piss myself or toss my guts in nervousness before then. I’m still internally grumbling about it when I hear Jo call out, “Hey! Twiggy!”

I wheel around and see the lanky boy sitting in a corner to our left and Johanna breaking from my side to join him. I follow right behind her and nod in greeting while she’s taking a seat beside him. “Where’s your other half?” I ask facetiously. “Already in there?”

“She did her exam yesterday afternoon,” he replies as I sit down on Jo’s other side. “York sent her when we got to the shooting range.”

I’m a little insulted that Boobs got recommended before I did, to say the least, but I still say, “Oh. Good for her. Pass on our congratulations.”

Kearns shifts in his seat and reveals, “She didn’t pass.” He twitches his mouth glumly. “She failed the Block portion.”

“Oh,” I mumble, unsure what else I can say.

“How long does she have to wait before she can retake it?” asks Johanna, ever the pragmatist.

“Two weeks,” he tells us.

That’s too long. The first squads are only days from shipping out, and the opening offensive should be starting in earnest within a week or so. His girlfriend will only be a part of the battle if it drags on, which we’re all hoping it won’t. “She might still make it to the Capitol later,” I reassure him anyway. “With reinforcements, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbles, predictably despondent. 

Jo scowls and commiserates, “That’s bullshit. It hardly seems fair we’re at the mercy of one random scenario.”

“It’s not random,” he immediately counters. We blink in surprise. “Well, it’s hard to predict what type of scenario they’ll put you in, but…” He looks around before leaning in and whispering, “They threw Foligno out there in pitch darkness and hit her squadron leader with a mortar 30 seconds in. I’ve heard rumors before, but now I’m sure the test is designed to target our individual weaknesses.”

“Nightblindness and improvisation,” I remark knowingly.

“Mm hm,” he confirms. “They said she lacks initiative and independence.”

I catch my partner’s eye and smugly remind her, “And you said those were bad qualities.”

Jo scoffs, “They’re good, to the extent that they keep you from being a liability.” She blinks and looks over at Kearns. “Sorry.” He shrugs. She turns back to me and continues, “Anything can be bad when taken to extremes. You can bet that will be your weakness, Everdeen.”

“Which weakness? I have many to choose from.” I start counting them off on my fingers. “Lack of physical brute force. A bare minimum of training.”

Before I can get any further, Johanna shakes her head condescendingly and cuts in, “Brainless, think about it. What did I say makes you a bad soldier?”

I’m smacked with a sudden head rush as her point dawns on me, bringing a chill with it. “I can’t take orders,” I say quietly, to myself as much as her.

“They’re gonna give you a chance to run off on your own or do something heroic and then tell you not to do it,” Jo informs me smugly.

“Yeah, definitely,” chuckles Kearns, who’s apparently eager to get in on the fun.

The other victor smirks and pokes me in the ribs. “Put that ego of yours aside and do as you’re told, and you should be fine.”

I can feel my face flushing, so I snark, “Wow, you guys are so helpful,” to cover my embarrassment. I glare at the boy. “What will yours be, Kearns? Noticing details like, ‘Oh, there’s a freaking land mine under my foot’?”

“Maybe,” he replies in all seriousness. “They’ll probably kill my leader, too. But at least I know it’s coming. Foligno, she wasn’t prepared.” He glowers at his hands and mutters, “She didn’t stand a chance.”

Johanna surprises me by placing a comforting hand on the teen’s hunched back. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s because she can relate. How hard would it be for the two of us if one was shipped out and the other had to stay? I shake that unpleasant thought from my head and offhandedly suggest, “You could throw your test so you don’t have to leave her.” I’m actually serious.

Kearns snorts. “Would you do that if you knew she failed?” he demands, nodding at Johanna.

My eyes immediately flick over to Johanna, who just shrugs. I guess she’s right; this should be no surprise. Of course the kid suspects our relationships might be comparable. We had enough double dates in the Block for him to witness our dynamic and how we protect each other no matter the cost. I return my focus to the boy, who’s still looking on expectantly. Right, his question. I have to give it a moment of thought, to be honest. I understand why someone would do such a thing if they ended up in that position, and if Jo went ahead of me and I knew she failed, the temptation would be there. I don’t want to leave her behind again. But battle is not for the faint of heart, and if we ended up in different squads, I still would have do without her protection and she without mine. The most compelling argument is my vendetta against President Snow and my desire to end his life on my own terms. Nothing can really trump that, not even Johanna Mason.

“No,” I finally state. “I wouldn’t.” We don’t say much more as we continue to wait for the next soldier to be called, but I quietly slip my hand into Jo’s and she doesn’t pull away. We could use each other’s strength. Who cares what people think? Besides, girls sometimes hold hands platonically, right?

A few minutes later, a robotic voice calls over the speakers, “Soldier Silas Kearns, report for individual assessment.” Jo and I exchange a look. It’s like this place tries to mirror the Capitol in every creepy way possible. I guess they inherited the Capitol’s technology and none of these people know what it’s like in the Training Center, but still. Our companion stands on shaky legs and clears his throat. He rolls his shoulders with a deep breath and then turns back to give us a departing nod before he heads to the entrance.

“Good luck, Twiggy,” Jo says loudly enough for the whole room to hear. The others waiting around mostly snicker among themselves, except for another boy from our Block squad and class with York, who laughs boisterously at the nickname.

Silas glares at the kid and then at Johanna, but he’s smiling a little. “Good luck, Mouthy,” he tosses back at her, much to the delight of our audience, which responds with a few hoots and some impressed laughter. She gives him the finger in response, and his face cracks into a grin before he wheels around and struts to the entrance. Once he disappears, she chuckles under her breath and relaxes back into her chair with a smile, and that’s when I realize that that was her intention all along. She just gave Kearns what he arguably needed most heading into the test, a shot of humor and confidence. She might be a nicer person than most people give her credit for. 

For as much as she was able to set our squad mate at ease, Jo grows increasingly agitated over the time it takes for two more people to be called. She’s abnormally quiet and jittery, knee bouncing and eyes darting about. When her hand spasms in mine, I give it a squeeze and assure her, “You’ll do fine, Mason. Just remember to keep your breathing steady and your sights lined up.”

“That’s not it,” she breathes tersely.

My brow crinkles and I pull back to get a better view of her face. “You’re not nervous?”

“No, I mean that’s not my weakness,” she clarifies. She sighs at my continuing bewilderment and explains, “I’m not nervous about being tested, not on combat skills. I know my shit. But it’s like the arena in there, all controlled, booby traps everywhere.” She gestures at the simulation room in front of us. “These people, they’re Gamemakers, can’t you see that? And they can make it rain, I’ll bet.” She swallows. “Blood, or worse.”

My skin starts crawling as I consider her fears. “You don’t really think they–”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I think,” she breaks in bluntly.

Haymitch’s words from the other night echo in my ears and I hazard, “You know, maybe we should try to trust these people. Give them the benefit of the doubt. They’re on our side, right?”

“It’s not about them being evil, Katniss. I’m just saying that logically, if they’re weeding us out based on our weaknesses, that’s what they’re gonna do to me.”

“I assumed he meant combat weaknesses,” I admit. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand and add, “And even if you’re right, we’ve worked on it.”

“I know,” she says with a tight smile that I think she’s just putting on for my benefit. “I’m glad. But if they…” She trails off and stares down at her still-tapping foot. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

I squeeze her hand tighter and let my head fall on her shoulder. If Jo is anything like me, and I know she is, nothing makes her feel stronger than giving someone else strength. Her name is called a few minutes later, and I instinctively stand with her. We just look at each other for a few long seconds. Comforting others is not one of my fortés, and I can’t really resort to kisses right now. It wouldn’t even be a resort, because I honestly really want to kiss her and wish her good luck, but I’m too awkward to do that here. Not so much because I don’t want people to know, but because even holding hands is more affection than I’d usually be comfortable displaying in public. I settle for clapping a hand on her shoulder and looking deeply into her dark, anxious eyes.

“You’ve got this, Mason,” I assert, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

Johanna smirks. “Of course I do, Everdeen,” she retorts. “I’m the best.”

“Good luck,” I say with an awkward nod of encouragement just before she turns and heads through the door leading to the Block entrance. I just stand there and helplessly watch my girlfriend go into battle without me there to back her up. I hope I never have to see that again.

It’s only ten minutes before I hear my name called and look up in surprise. I thought Jo finished her weapons test a few people ahead of me, so I expected to be waiting alone for a good half hour before going in. Oh well, it’s a good thing – less time to psych myself out. When I stand up after gathering my rifle from where I’d left it under the seats, I notice a couple of soldiers who must have been between us in the queue looking on disgruntledly. I shrug in apology and move on. Nothing to do there.

When I step inside the Block, the first thing I notice is the dank smell and feel of the air. My stomach constricts and I look down to the paving stones to find them wet. Before I even have time to properly process this information, a couple of Peacekeepers appear and I instinctively strafe to my right and pick them apart with bullets before they can bury any in me. My squadron leader comes online in my ear the second they hit the ground and instructs me to rendezvous with my squad at a point farther down the Block. So it’s an ambush scenario, in more ways than one. I only start to feel sicker and angrier as I slowly make my way through the streets and pick up on other details. Drips hitting my neck and making me flinch when I walk under a storefront’s awning. The sound of torrents of water rushing from drainpipes onto the already soaked pavement. Maybe I’m not always the most perceptive person, but I’m not an idiot. They’re trying to throw me by making me think Johanna’s in trouble, the same trick the Gamemakers in the Quell pulled on me with Prim’s screams. Perhaps they didn’t even make it rain on Johanna, but they want me to think they did. Maybe obedience isn’t the weakness they are targeting after all.

I grit my teeth and do my best to channel my fury into the situation, narrowing my focus and taking out every Peacekeeper I see with ease. Two on the rooftop to my left, another in the doorway up ahead. The onslaught of white uniforms is probably helping me at this point, keeping me from being in my own head too much and worrying about my lover. I’m a couple of buildings away from my goal when a half dozen Peacekeepers come charging around the corner and I growl in frustration. This is more than testing weaknesses – it’s setting me up to fail. And that’s when I notice something. A drum of gasoline lying carelessly in the gutter. Right, improvisation. It’s not a weakness of mine, but this must be another thing they want to see from me, being able to perceive that blowing up the drum will be the only way to achieve my mission. Just as I step out to do it, my squadron leader, who's been fairly useless up to this point, quietly orders me to hit the ground. Every instinct I have screams for me to ignore the voice, to pull the trigger, but Johanna’s warning rings in my head and I immediately flatten out on the wet asphalt. Someone else blows the gas tank. The Peacekeepers die. I make my rendezvous point. As I’m heading to the exit, I smile wryly and make a mental note to thank her for the tip.

A soldier meets me at the door and congratulates me, stamps my hand with squad number 451, and tells me to report to Command. I shuck my weapons and armor and march straight there, my neck still burning under my collar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled with my success, but I’m every bit as angry. That they possibly did test Johanna with water, that they forced me to witness the hypothetical aftermath of it, that they tried to use my feelings for her against me. It’s all so very Capitol.

***

“What am I going to tell Annie?” Finnick says under his breath when I join him in the hallway outside of Command. Our squad just received a briefing from Plutarch on our battleground, the booby-trapped streets of the Capitol. It so resembled the arena that Finnick and I made a crack about the invasion being the seventy-sixth Hunger Games, but it was really to cover our nerves. Under that joke and my otherwise studious mask, I was telling myself to hang on until I could get to the woods and scream. Or curse. Or cry. Or maybe all three at once.

“Nothing,” I answer. “That's what my mother and sister will be hearing from me.” Bad enough that we know we're heading back into a fully equipped arena. No use dropping it on our loved ones. Well, some of them. Johanna was probably given a similar presentation while receiving her orders if she passed her test, but even if she didn’t, I think I need to tell her. She would want to be in the know, and she’d kill me if she found out I’d kept it from her. But Annie’s sanity is more precarious than Jo’s.

“If she sees that holograph–” Finnick begins.

“She won't. It's classified information. It must be,” I bluster. “Anyway, it's not like an actual Games. Any number of people will survive. We're just overreacting because – well, you know why. You still want to go, don't you?”

“Of course,” he affirms, an unfamiliar darkness crossing his face. “I want to destroy Snow as much as you do.”

“It won't be like the others,” I say firmly, trying to convince myself as well. Then the real beauty of the situation dawns on me. “This time, Snow will be a player too.”

A body rounding a nearby corner catches my eye before I have the chance to continue, and I look over to see Haymitch stalking toward us, his face clouded with a jumble of emotions I can’t read. But when his eyes land on me, I discern a rare hint of sympathy in them, and I start sinking down into a squat before he can even say the fateful words. “Johanna's back in the hospital.”

I cover my ears with my hands, as though that might dampen the ringing in them, the sound of a futile alarm. On my way to the meeting, I’d assuaged my own fears by telling myself that the water was probably just a trick to fuck with me, like the jabberjays. And even if it wasn’t, Jo went in expecting that twist and she wasn’t in there for an abnormal length of time, so I convinced myself that I was being paranoid and that worst-case scenario, she froze up and failed. Her not being in my sharpshooter squad didn’t worry me at all either, for obvious reasons. I’d really wanted to trust that Thirteen would not do the same to her as the Capitol did, but as the reality of the situation strikes me, my lungs seize up and I start quaking with emotion. Rage. Helplessness.

I slowly remove my hands just in time to hear a bewildered Finnick ask, “What happened?”

“They made it rain,” I squeak. I force in a couple of breaths and elaborate, “In the Block. I went right after her and saw all the water. But we’ve been working on it, so I hoped she’d be fine.”

“They didn’t just make it rain,” Haymitch corrects me. “They flooded the street.” My already tight stomach lurches inside of me and threatens to spill its contents on the tile a couple of feet beneath my spinning head. And I thought I was set up for failure. “She had a flashback. Panicked, didn't know where she was. She's back under sedation.” Back on the morphling. As if this whole thing was not horrific enough already.

“Where’s President Coin?” The words sound more like an inhuman growl, and I barely even register that they’re coming from my mouth. When no response is forthcoming, I look up and see Haymitch and Finnick watching me warily, like the wild animal I must surely resemble in this moment. “Where is she?” I snarl, louder this time, straightening up predatorily. I don’t wait for a response this time, instead turning and storming back into Command. The metal door smacking into the stone wall makes Plutarch jump, but Boggs just observes me quietly from where they stand at the end of the entrance hallway. His posture and expression remain remarkably unaffected as I close in on the two of them, almost as if he…

He was expecting this. He was in on it. I stand there mutely gaping like a fish, and he calmly gestures into the room as Haymitch and Finnick follow in my wake. “Katniss, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand, thank you very much,” I snap.

Boggs makes sincere eye contact with all three victors before focusing on me again and beginning, “I understand that you’re upset, but I need you to step back and look at this logically. In the higher ranks of the military, we have to make hard choices for the sake of everyone.”

“I trusted you,” I spit, before he can get any further. I laugh ironically and toss a hand in the air. “But you never trusted her, did you? You didn’t even want to let her outside the gates.”

“I assure you, Soldier Everdeen, none of this was personal.”

“Bullshit. Are you sure this isn’t payback for Johanna mouthing off at Coin when–” I stop before I can say any more. Chances are, Boggs knows about that humiliating meeting with Coin, but I doubt Plutarch or Finnick do.

“I have nothing against Soldier Mason,” comes the president’s icy voice. I startle and whip my head toward the entranceway, where the gray-haired woman is just stepping out of the shadows. “In fact, we were all hoping she would be able to join you in the Capitol and be a part of the propos we’ll be filming there during the offensive. But as much as that would have helped the cause, we can’t have mentally unstable soldiers out there who may be sent into a panic attack over something as innocuous as the weather.” Coin stops next to Boggs and calmly explains, “We had to test her, for the safety of everyone.”

I shake my head in frustration and blurt, “It’s not even about that! Don’t you understand what you people have done to her?”

“There’s no need to be dramatic, Soldier Everdeen,” Coin condescends, what little empathy was just in her voice now wearing thin.

“I’m not being dramatic!” I shout, absolutely incensed. “You don’t get it! You weren’t there to see how hard it was for her, how brave she had to be, just to dip her fucking feet in a tub of water.” I give them a chilly laugh and shake my head to cover the contortions of my face and how my lungs are seizing up on me.

“Katniss–” Boggs protests gently, inching closer. He reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I slap his traitorous hand away. The president, I always had my doubts about. But not him, not since the trip to Eight. His involvement in this hurts far worse than Coin’s.

“She was just starting to get over her fear of water, and now all that work is wasted!” I appeal earnestly, to both of them. “She’ll be plagued by nightmares again, and if they’ve put her back on morphling, she’s going to have to go through the agony of withdrawal for a second time.” My voice starts cracking, and I suck in as deep a breath as I can. “I promised Jo that no one here was going to hurt her.” I can barely force those last two words out through my burning throat, and before I know it, Haymitch’s arms are wrapped around me and holding me steady. I release my tears into his shirt, trying desperately to curb my strangled sobs and salvage even a slice of my dignity. He rubs my back soothingly, and I almost push away because I don’t want to be comforted right now. I want to be angry. But I let him hold me up because I’m so weary. Of fighting. Of everything.

“Soldier Everdeen,” Coin says in a softer tone than before, “please understand that I am truly sorry for the outcome of Soldier Mason’s test. We feared this might happen, which was part of why we were reluctant to let her train in the first place. We knew we would have to test her to be sure she could function no matter what happened on the battlefield, and we knew the result would probably be unpleasant.”

“When is there ever going to be a flood in the Capitol?” Finnick asks bitingly.

“I just finished telling you the types of technologies the Capitol uses for their defense pods,” interrupts Plutarch, who I’d forgotten was still standing behind the two leaders. “You know how within their capabilities it is and how fond they are of psychological weaponry.”

“Yes, as a Gamemaker, you’d know all about that,” I spit, lifting my face to level a death glare at the paunchy man. “Were those jabberjays your idea, Plutarch? Congratulations, they still give me nightmares.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” argues Coin.

“It has everything to do with it,” I snap, turning back to her and Boggs. “I’m not stupid. I know why I was sent in right after Johanna, when the streets were still wet.” I give them a sickly sweet smile. “Testing me, right? Making sure I’m not a liability when I’m afraid for my lover’s safety?” Plutarch’s eyebrows arch and he glances around at all the unblinking faces in the group. I guess he didn’t know. “But if she’d already failed, why bother? You knew she wouldn’t be there to distract me in the Capitol, anyway.”

“We felt that even if Mason failed, a test of psychological strength would be in order for you, given the struggles you have had with your mental health during your time with us,” Coin rationalizes. I scoff, all the more disturbed. “But congratulations, you were able to put your concern for your loved one aside and continue to function, unaffected.” Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t make me feel any better, but Coin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because she just nods proudly and declares, “It was a pleasant surprise, given your performance in the arena.”

I stare disbelievingly at the trio in front of me. Boggs has apologetic sympathy in his eyes, and even Plutarch has the grace to look down guiltily, but Coin stands firm. Johanna was right about her after all. I shake my head and tell them, “You’re all no better than the Capitol.”

Coin looks to Haymitch and appeals, “Perhaps you can better explain this to your charge, Mr. Abernathy. Surely, you must understand. You know how fragile victors can be, how important it is to protect them from situations they can’t handle.”

“Protect them?” Haymitch snorts. “Putting victors back in the situations of their nightmares, on purpose, what kind of protection is that? It’s not the smartest move, if it’s their mental stability you’re worried about.” I pull back to examine Haymitch’s face because I think I detected a hint of anger in that, but he just calmly elaborates, “I thought you were all about resource management in this district, reducing waste and making the best use of what you have. If you really want the victors in the propos, why waste them in the Block?”

“We were most concerned for the physical safety of the victors and the other troops. We wouldn’t risk sending an unstable person to the front lines just to get some quality television,” Boggs counters irritably. “The best way we knew to predict Mason and Everdeen’s reactions in potentially triggering situations was to simulate them under controlled circumstances.”

“There are no controlled circumstances, not to us!” Finnick blurts, startling me. “Every moment feels like life and death once you’ve been to that brink.” My friend takes a second to compose himself under five silent stares before continuing, “You have no idea what it’s like to be a survivor of the arena, okay? To have to fight those memories every day, to be stripped of your dignity, your control over your own life, your will to even have one. Even your loved ones, for some of us.” He involuntarily blinks over to Haymitch at that, who silently sets his jaw in response. Finnick sighs and looks back to Boggs and Coin. “Did you really have to make Johanna lose her mind, on top of everything else?”

“Soldier Mason’s psychological afflictions are neither our doing nor our responsibility, Soldier Odair,” Coin reasons. “When she agreed to go through the exam, she gave us implicit permission to test her in whatever way necessary to see to everyone’s safety.”

“A flood wasn’t fucking necessary,” Finnick retorts. “Rain, sure. But the Capitol isn’t gonna go out of their way to target Johanna with water. No one gives a damn about her. Not here, not anywhere.”

“Nonsense,” Plutarch rebuts. “She’s one of the faces of the revolution. She’s a victor.”

“Nobody cares about the victors,” I scoff. “Nobody even cares about me, just what I represent.” I nod his way. “All you care about is good television.”

“All anybody cares about is how they can use us,” Finnick huffs. “Our bodies, our faces, whatever. Hell, even our lives.”

“Yeah, our sanity’s pretty low on the list,” I pitch in. “The Capitol people know just how to paint and prop up a broken victor for as long as the cameras are around.” I chuckle wryly at my boots. “And then they’re gone. We’re not even people to them.”

When I lift my head, Bogg’s caring eyes catch mine immediately. “We’re not the Capitol, Katniss,” he says softly.

“Yeah, go tell that to Johanna,” Haymitch snaps. There’s a moment of awkward silence between the six of us before he nods at the door and says, “Let’s go.”

Finnick bolts for the hallway, and when Haymitch and I catch up to him, we find him leaning against the wall, jaw set, staring at his empty hands. He’s surely missing his rope right about now. I chance a hand on his shoulder and gently prod, “Are you okay?”

He quickly wipes his nose and says, “Sure. Better than Johanna, anyway.”

“You two should go see her,” Haymitch says. “You’re all she has in this place.”

My heart sinks. Because not only is this true, but soon we’ll both be gone and she’ll have nothing. Prim will try to help her again, I’m sure, but she doesn’t understand what Jo is going through. Johanna has no real friends left once we’re gone. No family, of course. Not even anything to remember them by. Not so much as a token from her home district.

“Okay,” Finnick agrees, pushing off the wall. Then he stops short and catches my eye. “Or do you want to go first, by yourself?”

I almost smile at this display of deference, at finally being treated the way my feelings for and relationship with Johanna should dictate. Maybe people knowing is actually a really good thing. But I shake my head and say, “No, it’s okay. I have something I need to do first.”

I channel my lingering anger to give me the confidence I need to go back into enemy territory alone. Coin and Boggs are embroiled in what looks to be a somewhat heated discussion, but my new commander notices me approaching and stops midsentence. “I need to speak with you,” I tell him. I don’t have to specify that I mean alone.

Boggs excuses himself from the conversation and follows me to a nearby corner. When I find myself faltering for a moment, he jumps in and says, “Katniss, I really am sorry that your girlfriend ended up in the hospital.” I just blink despite his earnest eyes and tone, and he insists, “That was never our intention.”

“I don’t have time for apologies right now,” I say flatly. I know he’s telling the truth, but if he can’t be bothered to worry about Johanna’s mental health, then I can’t be bothered to worry about his feelings. I cross my arms. “You owe me a favor.”

***

I chew on my cheek as I tentatively approach Johanna’s hospital room, rolling the apple-sized bundle between my hands. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle seeing her so broken again. Part of me really likes it when she needs me, admittedly, but I can’t stand seeing my loved ones hurting, especially when I feel powerless to help. Of course, this isn’t about me, as Johanna would surely remind me if she could hear my thoughts.

I pause outside her door, take a steadying breath, and peek around it. She’s shivering, eyes clouded over, and doesn’t see me right away. Her mind must be elsewhere, probably still in the Block. Or worse. Within seconds, she shakes her head sharply and blinks away whatever memory is plaguing her mind, and then her muscles tense slightly as she senses me watching her. Once her eyes snap over and focus on me through the haze of sedatives, she sinks back against the inclined bed and lets her shoulders droop, her gaze dropping and mouth twitching with embarrassment. 

“Hey,” I rasp, cautiously crossing the threshold into the room.

The victor blinks up but only nods and swallows in greeting, making my throat swell in turn. Most of Johanna’s ferocity is in her abrasive attitude, the front she puts up for the world and only lets down for a select few of us. Stripped of that, as she is now, there's only a slight young woman, her wide-set eyes fighting to stay awake against the power of the drugs. Terrified of what sleep will bring.

“What took you so long?” she asks hoarsely, with a slight accusing undertone. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to come visit.” She scoffs inwardly. “Like before.”

I shrug uncomfortably. “Haymitch said you were under sedation, so I wasn’t sure you were even awake. Besides, I had to bring you something.”

Johanna sighs and deflates into the mattress again. “You didn’t have to bring me anything but yourself.”

I cross to her and hold out the bundle. “It’s rude to refuse gifts, you know,” I scold her cheekily. “Especially handmade ones.” I place it in her hands. “Smell it.”

She lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. “Smells like home.” Tears flood her eyes.

“That's what I was hoping. You being from Seven and all,” I say. “Remember when we met? You were a tree.” I smirk a little and blink away from her as the scene replays in my head. “Well, briefly.”

Jo cocks a sassy eyebrow and manages a half-smirk of her own. I blush slightly but am mostly preoccupied with trying to hold back a choked sob at seeing her back to how I’m used to, at least for a second. Brazen. Confident. Tempting. Unbreakable.

She grabs my hand and holds it tightly. “You have to kill him, Katniss.” She forces a wry smile. “I guess you’re getting to him first after all.”

Now my eyes really start to burn. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“Maybe you don’t want to, but you will,” she says plainly. “You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t go, didn’t at least try to kill him.” She drops her eyes to her lap. “And you’d end up resenting me.”

“No,” I protest earnestly, “I could never–”

“Believe me, it’s really easy to hate someone when you’ve loved them already.”

Her wording throws me, and I end up stammering, “I’m not even talking about hating you, I just… I wouldn’t blame you for a choice I made.”

“You say that now,” she asserts sadly. She gazes at me intently and squeezes my hand. “Don’t make any decisions based on me. You have to follow your heart.”

Now I really don’t understand what she’s getting at. “I thought you were telling me to go.”

“I am,” she confirms. “But what you want most is to kill Snow. That’s what you lie awake at night thinking about.” That’s not entirely true, not lately. My mind’s been distracted from vengeance by other, less familiar emotions. Johanna chuckles darkly and looks down. “You already told Twiggy you wouldn’t throw your test. I know that wasn’t just about pride, Katniss. You need to kill Snow. It’s your driving force.” Her eyes flicker, and she chews on her lip in thought. “Then again, if they capture him, you might still get the honor,” she ruminates hopefully. “Didn’t Coin say she’d flip you for it?”

“We both know that bastard doesn’t deserve a proper execution,” I declare menacingly.

“Yeah, he can die in a fire,” snaps Jo. “Like my family.” Her eyes drop, and soon her thumb starts rubbing absent-minded circles on the back of my hand. Eventually, she muses, “It wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, anyway, having him served up on a platter, would it? You want to take things into your own hands, do it your own way. It’s who you are.”

I suddenly grin. “By the way, thanks for the advice. You were totally right about my test, they wanted to see if I would follow orders instead of my instincts.” I pause momentarily, weighing whether or not to go on. But I don’t like keeping secrets from Johanna, so I hesitantly continue, “That, and…”

Her brows knit. “What?” she demands soberly.

“They sent me in right after you, so I could see all the water,” I cautiously divulge. Her face morphs in horror. “You were right about Coin. She told me straight up that it was a test of my psychological strength.”

“I told you we couldn’t trust that bitch.”

“We can’t trust anyone here.” I don’t want to leave her here, with these people. Who knows what else they might do to her? I’m only half-joking when I suggest, “You still up to killing a crew and flying there yourself?”

“Nah,” she says with a wry headshake. “I’m a liability, right? You’d all be better off without me.”

I give her hand a squeeze and lean in so our lips are only inches apart. “Never.”

Johanna pushes off the bed a little and engages our lips in one of the more chaste kisses we’ve shared in a while. But that doesn’t mean it’s not emotional. I’ve been doing my best to squash my own feelings since I came in for the sake of being strong for her, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like a mess, and that’s only exacerbated by the sensation of her lips feebly pressing against me, her energy sapped by drugs and emotional trauma. I don’t want to leave her, not in this condition. I don’t want to leave her at all. We’ve barely even had a chance to get started with whatever this is between us, and now we’re being ripped apart again.

Tears start spilling out of my eyes – ugly, heavy tears that weigh down my eyelashes like the drugs are weighing down Johanna’s body – and I silently berate myself for my weakness and blindly hope she is too drugged up to notice. It’s mere seconds before she stills her lips and flicks her eyes up to take in my wet ones. I look away guiltily and wait to be scolded, but no words come. I blink back to Jo in surprise when I feel her thumbs tracing my cheekbones, wiping away the beads rolling down from my eyes. This only makes me cry more, of course, so I lift my own hand and roughly swipe them away.

I push out a shuddering breath and mumble, “I’m sorry.”

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t sad,” deadpans Johanna. She cracks a bit of a smile, and I can’t help but let out a noise that’s half chuckle, half sob. She cups my jaw and studies me earnestly for a moment while I swallow painfully, forcing myself to hold her gaze this time. “Stay with me?” she finally asks, her voice betraying the fear I recognized when I entered. As though I would ever voluntarily leave her alone with her nightmares.

“Do you really have to ask?”

That makes Jo smile, genuinely this time. She adjusts the bed so it’s flat and rolls to her right to make room for me to slip in behind her. She hums contentedly when I wrap her in my arms, then presses the bundle to her nose and inhales deeply. If this moment smells like home to her, it feels like home to me.

The older girl passes out within moments, and the nightmares follow soon after. Holding her as she shudders in her sleep only strengthens my resolve to leave her, ironically enough. Coin was right about at least one thing: this is Snow’s fault.

“Don’t worry, Jo,” I whisper. “I’m gonna make him pay for it.” That’s one order I am more than happy to follow.

***

I startle awake at the loud creak coming from my left, my heart suddenly in my throat. I instinctively raise my unimpeded arm as a defense against the approaching enemy and the sharp stream of light shining directly in my eyes. The door closes and, in the dim light that remains, it takes me a bleary moment to recognize Prim and remember where I am.

I glance down at the weight I feel on my chest and find Johanna curled into my other side and still dead to the world, thanks to the drugs. I hardly left her all day, only to scarf down some lunch because I was as ravenous as I was nauseous after the testing and that ill-fated meeting in Command. Otherwise, I disregarded my schedule all day, even the specialized weapons practice I was promised with Squad 451. But that wasn’t just because of Jo. I was too embarrassed to see Beetee, and too bitter to see Boggs.

“How is she?” Prim inquires, approaching us on soft feet.

“Hard to tell,” I admit. “She’s been sleeping on and off for most of the day, but she’s been stirring less in the last few hours.” Well, the last few hours I’ve been awake. I don’t know how long it’s been since I passed out, but if Prim’s still on duty, it’s no later than ten. I study my lover’s face and caress her forehead with my thumb in an attempt to wipe away the worry line I see there. “I’ve been waking her up when she starts getting agitated. I think it’s helping.”

“She’s lucky to have someone who cares about her as much as you do.” The way Prim says this, it’s not quite right. It sounds calculated, not like a mere observation and compliment. It sounds evasive and placating, like Gale’s voice did when he was easing me into the news about the bombing in Twelve.

“You’re here to kick me out, aren’t you?” I deduce, suddenly indignant. Prim sets her lips in a firm line. “What, did they send you because you’re the only person I wouldn’t murder, given half a reason?” I chuckle dryly. “I guess I’m still mentally disoriented, huh?”

“Katniss,” she insists quietly. This is not a little girl whose highest priority is pleasing me. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I assert, circling my right arm tighter around Johanna. “She needs me.” My voice catches when I add, “I need her.”

“Don’t put up a fight,” my sister warns me. “Do you want to end up back here again?” Now that’s a thought. If I didn’t think it would jeopardize my deployment to the Capitol, I’d be tempted to injure myself or fake a mental breakdown just so I could be admitted. But, no. I don’t want to be incapacitated or on the sidelines any longer.

I begrudgingly start to extricate myself from Johanna. Just as I’m easing out from under her head, she grabs a fistful of my shirt and whimpers. I think I can actually feel my heart breaking inside of my chest. I desperately look to Prim, but she can only quirk her mouth sadly and say, “I don’t make the rules. I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are,” I grouse. I know I’m not being fair, and I would normally never lash out at Prim. An advantage to taking my frustrations out on her, though, is that she understands how I work and will undoubtedly forgive me. She’s one ally I could never make an enemy of. I’ll apologize later, when I’m in fewer pieces.

I gently massage Jo’s fist open and slide the pillow under her head before it’s left totally unsupported. “I’m on the early shift tomorrow,” Prim tells me once my feet are on the ground. “I’ll wake you up so you have time to visit her before breakfast,” she offers.

I find it in myself to say, “Okay, thanks,” like this is something to be grateful for. Logically, I know it is, but I’m too upset to give logic much weight right now. I say little more on the walk home, preferring to stew in my bitterness at today as a whole. I barely bid my sister goodnight before shutting myself in my compartment and staring blankly into the space that now seems far too large without Johanna.

I realize I’ve missed taking showers once I step under the spray that somehow feels cleansing for the mind as well as the body. Unfortunately, bathing alone in my otherwise empty compartment is also what drives home the reality of my situation. It was one thing to talk about leaving Johanna when she was right beside me, but now I have to process all of these things on my own. I’ll have to do everything on my own for a while. I’ve always valued my independence, but now that I finally don’t want to be left alone, I am.

I sink to the bottom of the tub and let the hot spray pelt the top and back of my head as I stare at the torrents of water running down to the drain. So harmless, yet so destructive. My eyes start leaking again, adding to the stream. I clench my fists and begin to shake, choking on my sobs. It only makes me feel worse, because I know I’m being childish. A good portion of the soldiers going to the Capitol must be leaving lovers behind. Finnick Odair. Silas Kearns, if he passed his Block test. Boggs too, probably, given he has a son. I allow myself these selfish minutes of mourning anyway, because I need them.

When my tears are as spent as I am, I shakily stand up. Slowly, to mitigate the oncoming head rush. I towel off and slip into my sleeping clothes, then stumble out into the living area. I jump when I come around the corner and see someone sitting at the table, but it’s only Prim.

My sister stands and eyes me with compassion and not a hint of wariness. I wish I could have her capacity for empathy and trust. I wish my life hadn’t drained me of what little I had of those qualities in the first place. “Want me to stay with you?” she offers. I nod feebly. Prim directs me to my bed and crawls in behind me. I settle facing her and let her stroke my hair and cheek, only blinking in response.

Several minutes of Prim’s warmth wakes me back up, at least in soul. I eventually get the energy to swallow and mumble, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” she says, like I knew she would. I’m not sure she does understand, though, not entirely. My reluctance to leave Johanna’s side in that moment was augmented by my impending abandonment of her in Thirteen and the guilt I feel over it. My lingering guilt over how she was abandoned in the arena to be tortured by the Capitol certainly didn’t help either. Prim must sense this after all, because she assures me, “I’ll take care of her for you when you’re gone, don’t worry.” But still, I feel my behavior warrants further explanation. And, to be honest, I want her to know why this is upsetting me so.

I swallow down my nerves and place my palm on Prim’s waist, holding her gaze intently. “Prim, Johanna and I… we…”

She grins. “Was that supposed to be a secret?” Suddenly, I feel very awake.

“Oh my god,” I huff. “Does everyone know?”

Prim lifts an eyebrow and probes, “Would that be a bad thing?”

“Not really,” I grumble, “I just… I don’t like being read so easily.”

My sister smiles again and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. “You’re finally happy, and it’s obvious. That’s good, Katniss.”

“Except for the ‘obvious’ part,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

“It’s obvious to me, but I’m your sister.” She smirks. “But I can’t say I was surprised. I kind of wondered about you and Madge when you got home from your first Games and you were hanging out all the time.”

I never thought of that. I’ve been trying not to think about those among the ranks of the missing and presumed dead, but now I allow myself to consider this. Madge didn’t wake me up inside the same way Johanna did, but even when we were just friends of convenience, I enjoyed her company. I always felt a certain affinity for her, especially once I got back. I assumed it was because we seemed to get each other in a way no one else did. Maybe it was also for other reasons.

“You should keep her around,” Prim continues, drawing my attention back to the girl in question. “I think she’s good for you.” She adds with a wink, “And she’d make a great sister-in-law.” My blush only brightens her smile.

I clear my throat and point out, “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”

“No,” she states firmly. “It is early, but I can tell. Or do you not think you two are for real?”

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” I admit. “With this world we live in…” I let that hang there because I’m not sure I can bring myself to articulate to Prim that I’m afraid to enjoy anything because it could all be taken away in an instant. But I can tell I don’t need to by the solemnity and care in those crystal blue eyes when she nods confidently and traces her thumb over my cheekbone.

“That’s why we’re fighting for a better world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to District 7 Profanity, the other best beta in the business.


	15. Promise

Water. It’s all I can feel, all I know as I wind my way through the darkened streets, squinting into the downpour, clutching my weapon with quivering, frozen fingers. Squelching in my boots as I slog through the good eight inches accumulated in the gutter, rolling down my neck and soaking my shirt under my layer of armor. I press on despite how slow my progress is, searching with wide eyes and a growing sense of alarm. There’s something wrong, but I can’t remember what it is. A torrent of icy water streams onto my head when I stagger past the border of a storefront’s awning to take shelter under it, and even icier dread sprouts in my stomach. The Block test. Johanna.

A bloodcurdling scream pierces the air, spiking my panic and sending me splashing across the street toward the source of the noise. “Johanna!” I shout. “Johanna, where are you?” The screaming picks up again, and I cut through an alleyway to get closer. The water is rising quickly, or maybe it’s deeper here. Either way, it’s midway up my thighs and becoming a huge struggle to wade through by the time the alley spits me out into the open. I can’t see Johanna, but I can just make out the echoes of her whimpers coming from down the block over the slamming of the rain against the rooftops.

I fight my way toward the noise, hissing and flinching when the freezing water reaches my most sensitive parts, but charging on nonetheless. I recognize this backstreet as the one Johanna and I were staking out that time I sliced my hand open, and I think she’s just on the other side of the dumpster. That’s confirmed when she suddenly shrieks, “Katniss!”

“Jo, I’m here!” I holler, holstering my rifle and pushing through the water with both arms now as well as my legs. I round the dumpster and find her in water nearly up to her chest, clinging to one of the climbing rungs like her life depends on it. “Johanna!” I note her wild eyes and chattering teeth and move to lay steady hands on her quaking body. “Do you know where you are?” The second I touch her, she flinches away, but at least she doesn’t scream. “It’s Katniss,” I tell her. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is.” She just turns her face into the metal and cowers, and before she has time to protest, I’ve scooped her out of the water. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” I whisper, cradling her just above the flood. She shudders with fear but clutches my bulletproof vest and tucks her knees into our chests, pulling her feet out of the liquid. “You’re in Thirteen. You’re safe h–”

I don’t get to finish that thought before the room lights up with a flash and a loud crack of faux thunder rips through the air. Johanna flails in my arms and shrieks again, her voice thick with fear and agony. She thrashes her way out of my grip and falls into the black deluge, submerging completely. Fear suddenly runs cold in my veins and I plunge my arms into the water to pluck my lover from it before she drowns in a fit of terror. I swirl my arms through the water and take a few steps to expand my search area, but make no contact with the girl. Sucking in a breath, I dunk myself and force my eyes to open and scout out her small body, but she’s nowhere to be found, not in any direction. I surface with a cough and whip my head side-to-side desperately, still seeing nothing but the water that’s now up to my breasts.

“Johanna!” I howl, slapping at the choppy surface. “Where are you? Johanna!”

“Katniss!” Prim shouts, shaking my shoulders roughly. “Katniss, wake up!” I swat her arms away and snap upright in my bed, eyes still darting around. “She’s okay,” my sister assures me through my hyperventilations, easing one hand onto a shoulder again. “Johanna’s going to be fine. She’s in the hospital.”

I slowly manage to settle my breathing and heart rate, Prim watching me stoically the whole time. Still panting, I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead and the back of my neck and guiltily look her in the eye. “Sorry I woke you,” I rasp.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s good I was here to pull you out.” She glances at the clock and shrugs. “I was supposed to be up in a few minutes anyway. Don’t worry about it.” I nod and stare at the bump my feet make under the covers. Prim slides to the ground and suggests, “Do you still want to see Jo before breakfast?”

I nod and clear my throat. “Yes. Please.”

She goes next door to change into her medic clothes and give Buttercup some attention, but meets me outside our doors within ten minutes to escort me up to the hospital. We’re a bit early for her shift and visiting hours, but Prim uses her charming smile to get me past the large desk in the reception area.

I pad up to Johanna’s room and ease the door open. She’s curled up on her side but not quivering or thrashing, both good signs. I sneak across the floor and into her bed. At least I can be here when she wakes up, which was part of why I wanted to stay last night. She stirs a little but doesn’t rouse completely when I envelop her with as much of my body as possible, pulling her snugly into my chest and hooking a leg around one of hers for good measure.

My stomach rumbles incessantly once I’m settled, pointedly reminding me that I skipped dinner last night. I’m just considering waking her up so I can spend some time with a conscious Johanna before having to leave for breakfast whens she squirms in my arms and stretches out her limbs. She squeaks out the most adorable little yawn and then cracks her neck before turning over to look me in the eye. She smiles sadly. “You came back.” My guts tighten with a pang of guilt. I was holding on to a shred of hope that she slept through the night and never noticed my absence.

“I’ll always come back,” I promise. I nuzzle her forehead and then press my lips to her hairline. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Prim kicked me out.” I feel Jo’s forehead twitch as she lifts an eyebrow. 

“Prim and what army?” she scoffs.

I pull back just enough to make eye contact and shrug sheepishly. “She kind of threatened to get me thrown me in here again as a head case if I didn’t obey the rules.”

Johanna chuckles and snakes her arms around my neck. “I guess she doesn’t know you as well as we thought.”

“Better, actually,” I admit with a suddenly raw voice. Jo’s eyes turn curious, so I gulp and divulge, “Prim, she… she knows. About us.” My lover ducks her head and snorts into my chest, her body shaking with silent laughter, making my face morph in insult. “What?” I demand.

Johanna looks up and wipes her eyes with some residual giggles. “Of course she does, brainless.” I scowl, only growing her obnoxious grin. “Primrose is not as naïve as you think she is, big sis. She figured out I had a thing for you ages ago.” I raise an eyebrow and she smirks. “At least someone in your family is perceptive.”

I glare playfully and poke her in the ribs. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Jo sasses me right back, her bedroom eyes shining. The reappearance of her snarky side is as comforting as it is annoying, and I can’t help smiling. I’d be lying if I said that look didn’t make my gut churn a little, too.

“Don’t tempt me,” I warn her. “I have to get going soon. I think if I bail on any more training sessions, they’ll ground me here and I’ll miss the invasion.” I catch Jo trying to look down my shirt and roll my eyes.

“Would that be the worst thing ever?” she barely mumbles.

My brow furrows and I prop myself up on my elbow. Johanna blinks away before I have the chance to query, “I thought you wanted me to go.”

“I want you to kill Snow,” she clarifies. “So, yes, I want you to go.” She sighs and shifts onto her back so she’s looking up into my eyes. “I just wish I was going with you.”

“Me too,” I whisper forlornly. Then I remember I’m supposed to be strong for her, so I offer the best words of comfort I can conjure at the moment. “I’m killing him for you as much as for me, you know.”

“If he doesn’t kill you first.”

“I’ll have lots of other people protecting me. People we trust. Finnick. Gale.” This does not seem to placate her, so I repeat, “I’ll come back, I promise. I’ll really try not to die.”

Johanna lifts an eyebrow in vague amusement. Funny, I’d think she of all people would understand how I could have been ambivalent about my own life or death. But I’m not anymore.

“Before, back when Peeta tried to kill me, before Finnick’s wedding and all that…” I start cautiously, with a meaningful look that I hope she understands. “Back then, I was perfectly happy to take Snow out and die for my trouble. I figured it would be better that way, to be honest.” I brush my thumb over her temple. “But now I have a reason not to.”

Johanna tries to bite back her hint of a smile and weaves her fingers into mine. “What, Littledeen wasn’t motivation enough?”

“I love Prim dearly,” I retort instantly. “I’d sacrifice my life to keep her safe. I already have.” 

“I know,” Jo says with pointedly widened eyes and gentle tone. “You’re a good sister. No one would ever argue that.” She maneuvers my hand to graze my knuckles over her lips while I watch intently, trying to find the words to articulate what I meant.

“You’re the complete opposite, Johanna,” is what I say. She pauses and flicks her eyes up to my face. “You make me want to hang onto my life, because you make me feel alive in a way I never have before.”

The older victor only stares incredulously in reply, her lips slipping open under my finger. She hesitates briefly before releasing my hand in favor of my face, pulling it down and into a soft but deep kiss. I let my body follow and sink into her, sighing my relief into her lips. That went okay for the closest thing to a confession of love I’ve ever uttered.

Tiny, rough hands work their way up my ribs to my shoulder blades while their owner gently massages my tongue with hers, then they glide down my spine as she gasps into my mouth. And in that instant, it’s almost like there’s only the two of us. No beeping heart monitor, no IV drips. Just Johanna and Katniss, together, like we should be. I almost forget about my hunger until my stomach gurgles noisily in protest, breaking the moment. My girlfriend pulls away with an inquisitive scan of my face.

“Sorry,” I mumble sheepishly. “I missed dinner last night.” Her eyes flicker in understanding and she lifts her head to give me another tender kiss. I revel in it for a moment, tracing from her jaw to her shoulders with both hands, burning the contours into my memory. I don’t want to forget a thing while we’re apart, however long that may be. Not knowing might be the worst part. I don’t know how many days I can last without her, how many nights. I break the kiss before long and start to wriggle out of the bed, but she lays a hand on my arm before I can escape.

“Stay just a bit longer?”

“I have to eat,” I insist. Then I throw her a droll smirk and add, “Food.”

Jo narrows her eyes and sarcastically drawls, “Ha ha.”

But when I exit her room, the dining hall is not my first stop. I track Prim down near the reception desk and ask her to take me to the doctor in charge of Johanna’s care. She tells me there’s a few of them, but directs me to a short, skinny man with a dark goatee scribbling on a clipboard. I recognize him almost immediately as the doctor Jo and I argued with over her training restrictions after her “seizure.” This should go well.

“Soldier Everdeen,” he greets me blandly as I approach. “Glad to see you well.”

“Thank you, Doctor Ramsey,” I reply, sneaking a look at his hospital ID badge.

He cuts right to the chase with, “I assume you’re here at the behest of your friend again?”

“What? No. No, I’m here for myself.” He narrows his eyes doubtfully, so I rephrase, “I mean, Johanna didn’t ask me to talk to you. But I’m concerned about her.”

The doctor clicks his pen and tucks it into his jacket pocket. “Go on,” he nods.

“I’m not sure if you know this or not, but she became at least mildly addicted to morphling when she was first living in the hospital. I don’t think she should be on it now. I’m afraid she’s going to relapse.”

“We are well-aware of Soldier Mason’s history with substance abuse,” he says with a wry smile. “And your compliance in the matter.” My face pales and I blink away from his penetrating eye contact. “That’s one of the reasons we were hesitant to let her live with you,” he reveals. “Some of the doctors considered you a… what’s the word… enabler.”

“She didn’t really leave me much of a choice,” I mumble in justification, but I squirm involuntarily because I know it’s a weak defense.

“A choice between differing unpleasant outcomes is still a choice, Soldier Everdeen,” he scolds me.

“It’s complicated.”

“Undoubtedly. It always is.” He peeks at his clipboard and informs me, “As for your current concerns, you’ll be happy to know we are using some alternative medications to keep her sedated.”

“Oh,” I sigh in relief. “Good.” It’s actually not all good, because that was going to be part of my argument for what I really want.

Ramsey must sense my hesitation, because he probes, “Is there something else?”

“Yes,” I venture. “I… I want to take her home.” I can already see the refusal budding on his lips, so I forge on before he can get a word in edgewise. “She’s been sleeping much better since we moved to the compartment. We’ve been sharing a bed, and it helps ward off her nightmares. Sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place after what happened, it must be frightening for her, even if she’s on drugs to keep her calm. And the hospital staff won’t let me stay here overnight.” 

Despite a glimmer of hesitance and sympathy in his eyes, his answer is still, “I’m sorry, but I can’t authorize that.”

“Please,” I beg with as much dignity as possible. “I know her, and we’ve been doing this for a while. I can take care of her.”

“And who is going to care for her once you’ve been deployed to the Capitol, Soldier Everdeen? Who will she live with then?”

I hadn’t even thought of that. There’s a good chance she won’t be fit for unconditional release by the time I’m deployed, whenever that may be, and there really is nowhere else for her to go. Annie is out of the question – I’m not even sure the doctors here are comfortable with her living alone once Finnick ships out. Mom and Prim come to mind, but I can’t ask that of them. Despite Prim’s visions of the future, they’re not family yet. And there’s no one else who would tolerate Johanna for any length of time and will be in Thirteen throughout the offensive.

Doctor Ramsey waits until he sees this realization in my face before concluding, “Soldier Mason’s mental health is more likely to stabilize in a stable environment, naturally. I see no benefit to releasing her now, only to readmit her within the week. And we are able to watch over her 24 hours a day, Soldier, which you are not.” A flicker of thought passes through his face and he adds, “If you were to choose to put aside your military duties and commit to being her primary caretaker until she’s stable enough for release again, then I could lobby on your behalf to her other doctors, and maybe something could be arranged. But as the situation stands, it’s best for her to stay here.”

My shoulders slump in defeat because, in some deep recess of my mind, I know he’s right. I’m ill-equipped. All I can give Johanna is my love: warmth and a steady grip at night, a kindred spirit to commiserate, and boundless affection in the limited time we have together. But she needs other things too, like knowledgeable caretakers who are readily available and won’t desert her to carry out a mission of vengeance. My love isn’t enough.

***

The buzz of chatter within the dining hall is all but drowned out by the clamor in my head as I mindlessly slide my tray along the counter and let the servers dole out my prescribed calories for the afternoon. Like everything else that’s decided for me.

“Katniss.” I glance over my shoulder and find myself face-to-face with Boggs. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking it’s none of your business,” I snark. My commander continues to study my expression, his demeanor one of almost irritating patience. What’s most irritating, actually, is that some part of me still trusts those kind eyes. Being in the same squad has gradually forced us into being on speaking terms over the last several days, but I’m clinging to my resentment all the same. But I don’t think he’s going to let me get away without answering, and I don’t need to like him to complain to him. “I didn’t go through all this trouble just to be a face on camera again,” I vent, glaring down at the tray as I continue my forward progress. “I want to fight. We all do.” 

“I’m disappointed too,” he admits, “though not overly surprised.” That catches my attention enough to turn my head again. “People are more interested in your face than your talents. Same with Finnick, and even Gale now. All three of you in one squad gave me pause.”

“Like Plutarch said, we’re more valuable as symbols than soldiers,” I scoff, grabbing my tray from the end of the counter. “And that’s all we are. They might as well have sent us in untrained.”

“Your training will still be valuable,” he contends. “You know how to shoot a gun, how to execute orders.”

“Yeah,” I snort, “as your precious Block test proved.”

Boggs silently falls into step beside me as I leave the food line. Genuine concern fills his voice when he finally hazards, “How is she?”

“About as well as can be expected,” I retort, though not as coldly as I intended to, before striding away to sit with Finnick and Annie.

Our orders come down during our special weapons training a few hours later. We’re shipping out tomorrow morning. I’m suddenly so full of conflicting emotions that I can hardly account for them all, much less process them. Excitement to storm the Capitol and get my shot at Snow, shock at the lack of notice, and sadness to be leaving Johanna, among many others. The earlier news of my squad’s assignment, or lack thereof, tempers the excitement part and adds a whole new layer of complexity to the situation. Maybe it’s not even worth it to go, not with what I’ll have to leave behind.

I do my best to act engaged during the rest of training, but make a beeline for the hospital as soon as we’re released for Reflection, hoping the day’s news hasn’t already filtered down to Johanna through some other source. That’s not the only reason. I need my fix. Training without her still feels so foreign and wrong, almost as foreign and wrong as sleeping without her. I’ve spent the last few nights sleeping in Johanna’s bed when I’m feeling strong and Prim’s when I’m feeling anything but. Mostly Prim’s.

My former roommate appears to be dozing when I stutter to a stop in her doorway, and I briefly hesitate, unsure if I should wake her. I kick out the doorstop to let it close, then step into the room. My heart swells when my gaze lands on the familiar white bundle in her fist.

“Can’t wait to see me, brainless?” Johanna opens a sleepy eye and smirks at my breathlessness.

Her familiar sass brings a smile to my face, and I cross the remainder of the floor to lay a kiss on her lips. “Never.” I drag a chair up beside her bed and settle on it, taking her free hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Drugged up,” she says, blinking the fatigue from her eyes. “I’m sick of sleeping, but it’s not my choice. I wonder what the docs are so scared I’ll do if I’m awake and at full strength.”

“Put an axe in their faces, maybe?” Jo sticks out her tongue at me and I chuckle, but it’s a mere short moment before my face starts to fall as I remember the other reason why I’m here.

“What?” she asks, squinting adorably through the power of the drugs.

“We, uh…” I involuntarily drop my gaze, scratching at my neck. “We got some news today.”

Johanna needs no further explanation. Her mouth wavers, but she stoically nods in understanding. “How soon?”

“In the morning.” Her eyebrows twitch with surprise, and I nod my accord. “Yeah, me too.” I nibble on the inside of my lip, weighing whether or not to drop any more news just yet. “That’s not all,” I eventually say.

Jo props herself up on her elbows, peering closely at my troubled face. “What is it?” she asks, a sudden volume and clarity to her voice.

“We’re not soldiers.” Her face crinkles, and I rephrase, “I mean, they’re not sending us as soldiers. They’re sending us as television stars.”

“You mean you’re only shooting propos, not Peacekeepers?”

“I don’t know, really. I knew we’d be shooting some propos – Plutarch already said so – but now he’s calling us the ‘Star Squad’ and the ‘faces of the invasion.’” I sarcastically emphasize those catchphrases with air quotes, pulling a small smile onto Jo’s lips.

“Typical,” she snorts. “Only interested in our faces.” She squeezes my hand and quirks her mouth sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Everdeen. I know how that feels.”

“It’s not just that. They’re keeping us away from the real fighting,” I complain. “Apparently we’ll be shooting stuff, but not in the dangerous areas. However that works.”

My partner’s eyes briefly cloud over in thought. “So you won’t be the first ones through the booby-trapped streets?” she surmises. I wonder if I’m imagining the relief in her tone until she states, “That might actually be a blessing, Katniss.”

I dip my head a little and purposefully widen my eyes. “You know I’m not staying with 451, right? Not if this is our assignment.”

Johanna snorts and drops my hand. “So much for trying not to die,” she snarks, scooting her butt up the bed so she can sit up and pull her knees to her chest.

I blink in confusion and admittedly a touch of defensiveness. “What, so now you don’t want me to kill Snow?”

“I do,” she stresses, “but I don’t want you running off into the line of fire alone, with no protection or monitoring.” She holds my gaze earnestly and warns me, “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Well, this is the only shot I have unless I want to chance that he’ll last until a formal execution,” I snap. “And neither of us wants that, anyway.”

“Vengeance against Snow isn’t all that matters to me, brainless,” she spits with narrowed eyes.

I scoff incredulously. “Since when?”

“Since you!” she exclaims. I feel a twinge of something like affection in my chest, but it has no chance to grow because Jo continues on the offensive. “You don’t get it, do you?” she spouts. “I’m scared, Katniss. I’m terrified that you’ll be hurt or in danger and I won’t be able to help you. And if you run off on your own, then you’ll have no protection and I won’t even know if you’re alive or dead.”

“No, I do get it,” I parry. “That was my life for almost two months, Johanna. I just about lost my mind sitting around here thinking about what they must be doing to you and Peeta in the Capitol.” I haven’t even finished that sentence before Jo releases a wry snort. My brow creases with irritation as I bark, “What?”

“Me and Peeta? Really?” She tips her head condescendingly. “Come on, Katniss, we both know you didn’t give a fuck what was happening to me at the time.” My mouth opens in protest, but she waves me off before I can even form an argument. “I mean, obviously things are different now, but you don’t have to pretend it was thoughts of me keeping you up at night.” She releases one sarcastic chortle and smirks, “Unless it was sexy thoughts. That, I’d believe.” Heat floods my cheeks under that inflammatory stare. The gall of this woman.

“That’s not true!”

“Of course it is,” she says dismissively. “If Peeta wasn’t there, I’d still be rotting in the Capitol. Coin wouldn’t have authorized a mission just to save me and Annie. They rescued us because you and Finnick were totally non-functional without your precious puppy dogs, Haymitch told me so.” I cross my arms and scowl but she continues, undeterred. “But you were the one they really needed to perform. That’s why they needed Peeta. I was just lucky enough to be imprisoned in the same place.”

She huffs and glares at her feet. “It’s not like anyone was going to go out of their way to save me,” she says, in a small voice that breaks my heart. The worst part is, I know it’s true. It was difficult enough to convince Coin to rescue Peeta. Even if I’d put up a fuss about saving Johanna, she wouldn’t have been moved enough to do anything about it. No one needed Johanna, the same way she didn’t want to need anyone. I can feel the aggression seeping out of my posture until she snaps her eyes over to mine and adds, “Least of all you.” Suddenly, I don’t care that she’s right. If she wants a fight, I’ll give her one.

“I put your name in the Mockingjay Deal, Johanna,” I growl, leaning in dangerously. “I fought for your immunity. I got you rescued. I did everything I could for you.”

“Except it wasn’t for me, was it?” Her voice catches and she immediately forces on a smirk to compensate. It comes out as more of a sad smile. “None of it was, ever. It was Peeta you cared about, not me.” She flourishes dramatically and chirps, “You just walked off with him after I was the one who tried to save your life on that fucking island.”

“There were cameras.”

“You weren’t acting!” she practically yells. “You wanna know how I know?” I nod curtly and cross my arms, just daring her to go on. “Because you’re a terrible fucking actor! So please, just stop pretending I always meant something to you. It just rubs it in that I didn’t.”

“Oh, what, like you always gave two shits about me?” I retort, my voice jumping to an uncharacteristically high pitch. I purposely swallow down the ache in my throat and glower fiercely. “Yeah, you saved my life, for the rebellion. You also threatened to rip my throat out.”

“We were in the Hunger Games, brainless.”

“It wasn’t just then,” I snap, hurt seeping into my tone. “You’ve always been so mean to me, Jo!”

Johanna rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t be such a baby.”

“See?” I shout, pushing myself to my feet and regaining my height advantage. “Even now, we’re in a relationship and you’re still a complete fucking bitch. How am I supposed to believe you when you say you think highly of me and care about me if you turn around and talk down to me like this?”

“I care about you, Everdeen,” she replies evenly. “I just get really sick of your bullshit sometimes.”

“You’re the one who’s always talking out of her ass.” I retort. She scoffs, and I insist, “I’m serious. You’re just as bad as Haymitch. You always say whatever you need to say to get what you want.” 

“Like you’re not manipulative. You even said it yourself, the night of the wedding.”

“Not like you are. You know just which words will get to me, and you play me like a fucking fiddle.” She did so only minutes ago, when she said her change in priorities happened since I did. And that’s far from the only instance. “Like that night, when–” My voice catches and I try to swallow the tension in my throat once more. I’m less successful this time. “When you said I’m not just the Mockingjay to you.” Johanna’s eyes flicker in recognition, and I nod. “It was the perfect line,” I reflect with a tight smile and even tighter vocal chords. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better, or get your feelings across. But for all I know, you were just trying to get in my pants.”

Jo’s face puckers in insult, and a tense moment passes before she growls, “Fuck you. You know, your insecurity is really getting old.”

“Well, you play right into it,” I retort. “Calling me a baby, and brainless. ‘A stupid child,’ isn’t that what you said?” I shake my head with a scoff. “And you expect me to believe you want something more from me than a bunch of hot sex.”

“That's exactly why I say those things!" she counters. "If I just wanted to fuck you, I wouldn't give a rat's ass how you treat me or anyone else. Or yourself.” My brow creases at that last bit, and she rolls her eyes. “I love you, Katniss,” she says emphatically. “That's why I can't stand you.” I can only blink numbly after that.

“Really?” I falter. She gives me a small but discernable nod, and my stomach ties itself in a knot. “Johanna, I…” The desire to reciprocate the statement is overwhelming, but the words seem to be stuck in my throat. “I…” I trip over my own tongue and watch helplessly as her face falls.

“You can’t even say it, can you?” she scoffs. “What, are you actually thinking about your words for once? Not just saying whatever comes to your head, whatever you want to be true?”

“Wh–what are you talking about?”

“That’s what you always do,” she asserts. “Like saying I brought you to life in a way no one else did?” I cross my arms and raise a challenging eyebrow. “I wanted to believe that was true. I believe you meant it when you said it. But you looked plenty alive to me on that beach with Peeta.”

“You have no idea what I was feeling then,” I scowl, my ears burning with an angry blush.

“No, I think you have no idea,” she bites back. “You told me you never loved him. But I think you did. Some part of you, anyway.” I purse my lips and keep glaring, but she just waves me off. “You’re young, and this is all new to you. How do you even know what you’re feeling?”

“You’re young too, in case you've forgotten,” I snap. “And it’s not like you’ve had a love life to speak of since you were my age, have you?” Oh, no. I’m doing everything wrong, again. Just like that first moment in the hospital with Peeta. Why am I incapable of expressing how I feel about someone without becoming a defensive jackass?

This patient’s face doesn’t go crimson with rage, the way I expected. Rather, it pales, turning every bit as cold as her voice. “Fuck you.”

I already know I can’t say anything to redeem this moment, let alone myself, but I have to try. “Johanna…” I lean forward and reach out to touch her forearm, but she smacks my hand away.

“No, fuck you!” she repeats, this time with the venom I anticipated. “Don’t touch me.” I shrink into myself and take a large step back, lifting my hands. “Get out of my room,” she growls. Despite my compliance the instant prior, that command freezes me on the spot. Jo releases a sound that I think is supposed to be a scoff or a mocking chuckle, but it warbles and the pitch is all wrong. She cants her head to the side and sneers scathingly, “Are you deaf, Mockingjay? Again?”

I wet my lips and try once more. “I… Jo, I’m–”

“Get out!” she screams, flinging the pine bundle at me. I’m too shocked to knock it away before it hits me square in the chest and falls to the ground. I stare at it in disbelief for a moment before looking up and into Jo’s eyes. The fire in them has not waned one bit. “I swear to god, Everdeen, I _will_ rip your throat out. Get. Out.”

The pure disdain in my lover’s face is what finally makes me obey her, turning on my heel and fleeing in the direction of the Education Center. I disappear into the supply closet and huddle against a stack of boxes, shuddering and holding my knees to my chest. I know I’m relapsing into one of my maladaptive coping strategies, as the head doctors would put it, but I need the quiet. That’s not my only bad behavior that’s become habitual. It seems I share Johanna’s ability to ad-lib short, profound statements that can impact the other in her very core. However, she usually reserves that talent for opportunities to send me soaring, and sticks to superficial barbs when she wants to provoke me. But I use my talent to inflict pain, to rip open poorly healed scars. Yes, she’s mean. But I’m cruel.

I clamp my hands over my ears and begin rocking minutely. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. I’m a soldier in District 13. I’m returning to the Capitol to kill President Snow. I’m leaving Johanna behind. Johanna loves me. I love her, but I can’t seem to say it. I love her, but she doesn’t believe it. I don’t really blame her.

It’s Gale who finds me in the end, what feels like hours later. My old friend eases himself down into the cramped space and settles a couple feet to my left, watching me but saying nothing. I give him a second of eye contact to acknowledge his presence, then return to staring at the light seeping in through the crack under the door. We maintain our comfortable silence for a minute in this situation that reeks of familiarity before he says, “You missed dinner. Again.” I nod silently. “You need to keep your strength up if you want to make it out of the Capitol alive.” I shrug and drop my eyes to my fingers that have been picking at my cuticles since I calmed down enough to stop shaking. I only now notice the blood. “Everyone was worried.”

“Of course,” I mutter. “We couldn’t have the precious Mockingjay go off the rails again, now could we?”

“Or Katniss,” he adds. My mouth twitches with something that wants to be a smile, but has no chance given my current disposition. Gale hesitates before continuing, “I went to the hospital to fetch you.” I glance up quizzically. “You were there last time. Seemed like a decent bet.” I grunt and twitch my eyebrows. “I asked her if she knew where you were, and she said, ‘Hopefully getting strangled by the baker.’”

My breath hitches for half a second as that comment slams me in the gut. I can feel Gale watching me, so I roll my eyes and return my attention to scraping dried blood off one of my knuckles.

“Let me guess, lovers’ quarrel?” he supposes. I freeze and try to calculate whether he was joking or not just from his voice. I lift my eyes to read his face, where his raised eyebrows and expectant eyes confirm that he is not. “I’m not an idiot, Catnip.” I groan and sink back against the cardboard, covering my face with my hands. I wish I could disappear completely.

“Is it really that obvious?” I grumble.

“To me. Five years of hunting together.” He’s not wrong. We had to master silent communication to successfully stalk prey as a unit, and as a result Gale can read my face and my body language even better than Prim or Johanna. It’s fair to say he knows me better than anyone.

“Right,” I mutter. I still kind of want to be miserable and make myself suffer, but I know Gale won’t allow that. I probably shouldn’t, either. I release my inhibitions with a sigh and edge closer to him.

“Are you okay?” I shake my head, biting my lip to suppress the tears I feel starting to burn my eyes. My best friend wraps an arm around me and I shift my weight to rest my head on his shoulder out of habit, if nothing else. “What happened?”

“Oh, I’m just an idiot,” I grumble. “And a bitch. Nothing new there.” He nods for me to continue and I just sigh and twist the hem of my shirt between my restless hands. I gnaw on my cheek, fretting over my words for a few seconds before abruptly spurting, “She’s just so good at making me feel so small. Her words hurt me more than I think she realizes and sometimes I just… I want to hurt her like she hurts me, and I snap and say the most horrible things.” I snuffle and wipe my nose. “It’s happened before, but I think I really fucked up this time.”

“Johanna thrives off of getting under peoples’ skin,” he notes. “Yours in particular.”

I snort disdainfully. “Yeah, no shit.”

“She’s acting out too, you know. Same as you. Probably for the same reasons.”

My eyes squint into slits. “She’s hurt and wants to hurt me back?”

“Or she’s afraid of getting hurt,” he muses.

“No, she’s not afraid,” I huff. “That’s not the word for it.” I kick at a stray piece of chalk by my heel and listen with satisfaction as it skitters under a shelving unit and snaps against the wall. “She’s just bitter. She’s pissed off that I ever cared about Peeta more than her, which is fucking ridiculous. And it’s worse than if she was scared, because I can’t do anything to change that.” I shrug in defeat. “It’s like you said, she feels overshadowed by him. Never mind that he’s totally out of the picture.”

“Maybe that’s why. Even if she’s not afraid you’d go back to him, she probably doesn’t feel like you chose her.” Gale shrugs at my inquisitive look. “Peeta’s not really an option now.”

“Yeah, so what does it matter? She has no reason to feel threatened by him.”

“I didn’t say that.” I release a tiny frustrated sigh, and his brow furrows as he mulls over his words. “When Peeta came back,” he starts hesitantly, “I didn’t feel threatened, not in terms of competition for a lover.” I blink away guiltily. “But I did feel like if I got to be with you, you’d only ever see me as a consolation prize. You’d never feel like you made the right choice, because you never got to make one. It would always feel wrong.”

“You’d never be able to compete with his pain.” I catch Gale’s eye. “I remember.”

“Mm,” he grunts. “Johanna can. But she might still think you’re only her lover by chance. Not by choice.” I chew my cheek again as I consider this. I can tell myself I would have chosen her anyway, no matter what happened to Peeta, but I have no way of knowing that. None of us do. I guess that’s the problem.

“Maybe it is by chance,” I muse. “Maybe I never would have even realized I was attracted to her if I hadn’t seen her so vulnerable.” I think I see Gale roll his eyes a little. “But it doesn’t matter, Gale. There’s no changing the past. It doesn’t matter if I loved Peeta, or could have loved him. I love _her_. I love her so much.”

He dips his head meaningfully. “Does she know that?”

“I tried to tell her,” I laugh bitterly. “But it all went so terribly wrong. I’m bad at words.” I toss one of my hands in frustration. “Besides, she wouldn’t believe me. She'd probably just tell me I'm too young and stupid to know how I feel. Or slap me.”

“Or maybe she’d say, ‘I know,’” he suggests cheekily.

I throw him a heavy glare, but he just smirks proudly at that shot. I’m not really in the mood to find the humor in it. I point a finger at my chest and scowl, “Bad at words, remember?”

“You’re not bad at words. Bad at finding the right words in the moment, sometimes. Bad at speaking, maybe.” He snaps his fingers dramatically, like he’s just had a brilliant thought. “You could write her a letter or something,” he suggests, his mouth quirking humorously. “Maybe serenade her with a cute little love song.”

I kind of want to laugh at the half-joke, but I can see the sadness behind his twinkling eyes, so I just end up mumbling, “Gale, I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he shrugs, eyeing the floor. “You love who you love, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I wait until he glances back my way before lamenting, “I didn’t do right by you. I shouldn’t have kissed you when I wasn’t sure what I wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway.” 

“I think it does,” I insist. “You matter to me, Gale.”

“I know that,” he scoffs. My quizzical look just makes him shake his head. “Look, I realized I’d lost any chance I had with you weeks ago. It was pretty obvious you’d fallen head over heels for Johanna.” I snort under my breath. Everyone seems to realize that but her. “It’s not a lot of fun for me, but talking about it isn’t going to make it better.”

That, I can understand. Haven’t I been trying not to think about Peeta ever since he tried to kill me? It’s a tough distinction to draw, running from your pain versus moving past it. But I guess Gale is of Johanna’s mindset in yet another way. There’s no going back, so we might as well get on with things.

“Okay,” I say. Maybe I shouldn’t, I don’t know, but I let my head fall against his shoulder again.

He lets a moment pass before saying, “Good. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Mm?” I grunt lazily. “Why, then?” A groan of protest escapes my lips as Gale shuffles his weight out from under me and pushes himself to his feet. My wary expression turns petulant when he extends a hand down to me.

“I’m not going to let you wallow in self-pity and hate yourself the whole time we’re in the Capitol,” he states firmly. I snort inwardly. That’s basically all I do, so good luck with that. That’s what Jo would say, anyway. Gale makes an insistent come hither motion with his hand. “You need to go see her. Fix whatever it is.”

Reluctantly, I grab his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “She doesn’t want to talk to me,” I protest on the way up.

Gale drags me out of the closet and into a strong hug. Despite my misgivings, I relax into his steady arms and circle mine around his waist. He dips his head to whisper into my hair. “Then don’t talk.”

***

It’s well into the evening by the time I return to the hospital, trying to contain the butterflies and bile in my stomach. My conversation with Gale made me realize I needed to go in with a plan, and it took me some time to plot out how best to approach Johanna and properly express my feelings. It was so easy to say when I was dreaming, and after that I was paranoid it would slip out. But of course when I finally wanted to say it, I couldn’t. 

I edge toward Jo’s room on hunter’s feet, hoping the drugs have pulled her under so I can make it in the door without getting pelted again. Maybe if I can touch her before she wakes up, it will melt her defenses. Or maybe it will get me punched.

When I peek through the window in her door, a sharp pain pierces my chest. She’s asleep, all right. Curled up facing the door, clutching my bundle of pine needles to her nose. It gives me as much hope as it does heartbreak. I swallow the lump in my parched throat and tiptoe into the room, easing the door shut behind me. I round Johanna’s bed and slip in behind her, slither my left arm under her neck and my right over her waist. She stirs at the contact and I rub my thumb over her bare forearm. This is it, my small window of opportunity to spill my guts before she spills them for me. Before my nerves can get the better of me, I lift my head a bit and tip it forward so my mouth is nearly over her ear.

“Deep in the meadow,” I breathe, “under the willow…” Johanna’s muscles stiffen and her head lifts slightly. “A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,” I continue, my lips now brushing her ear. “Lay down your head, and close your eyes…” I feel her body jerk with a small, silent sob. “And when they open, the sun will rise.” I swallow to steady my voice and then take a shaky breath. “Here it’s safe, here it’s warm,” I croon, tightening my hold on her tiny body. “Here the daisies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true.” I give her hand a squeeze and deliver the momentous line, “Here is the place where I love you.”

I move on to the second verse. A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray. The chorus is easier the second time around, thank god, and halfway through it I feel Jo’s fingers nudge up into my hand and weasel between mine. Tears of relief spring from my eyes and I feel the tension leaving my body and moving to my cheeks, where a huge smile is pressing those rarely used muscles into service.

I go quiet once the song is over, waiting for some kind of response. Johanna doesn’t give me a verbal one, but after a long moment she grunts and pulls my arm tighter around her. So, I decide to move on with the other words I’ve crafted. “I think you were right.”

“Mm,” she mumbles. “I’m always right, brainless.”

I roll my eyes and specify, “I don’t always know what I’m feeling.” I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at Jo, who shifts onto her back. “Maybe some part of me did love Peeta,” I ruminate, “maybe even romantically.” Her eyes start to narrow, and I have to work to suppress an affectionate grin because Johanna’s sleepy version of angry sort of reminds me of a cranky Buttercup. It comes out as a small smile instead. “But that’s the thing,” I say, tracing my fingers along her jawbone. “Every part of me loves you. It’s not like with him, it’s not even a question.” I see tears sprouting in her eyes and move my hand to wipe them away, sighing happily.

“I didn’t choose you,” I declare. “I had no choice. Once I realized how I felt about you, I couldn’t have changed course, even if I wanted to. And I didn’t. Not for a second.” I shake my head at my own helplessness. “I’m a mess around you.” I swallow. “I’ll be an even bigger mess without you.”

Johanna grabs the neck of my shirt and tugs downward. “Come here, Everdeen.”

I gladly oblige, easing my weight onto her and dipping my head to meet her lips. We settle into a hot but lazy kiss, all tongue and slow, heavy breaths. Maybe I would want more under other circumstances, but right now I’m so relieved and grateful for how I managed to not fuck that up that I am beyond content.

When I finally start to feel sparks of want between my legs, I pull away and lay my head on Johanna’s chest. I have more to say and, besides, that’s not what I’m here for. I rest my right hand over her heart and savor its rhythm and the intimacy of the moment before putting it on the line again.

“I’m sorry I said what I did,” I whisper.

“I kind of asked for it.”

My forehead scrunches at that frank omission, and I tip my head back so I can see Jo’s face. “You told me you loved me, and I…” My voice starts to break, forcing me to swallow. “I rubbed your face in the hell Snow made your life, for years.”

“I didn’t ask for that in particular,” she says with a vaguely sour look, “but I was angry and I was trying to make you snap.” Her expression softens again and she threads some fingers into my hair. I automatically lean into her touch. “And I didn’t give you a fair chance to tell me how you felt.” She strokes her thumb over my temple and I almost melt under the care I see in her expressive brown eyes. I move my hand to her shoulder and pull myself up to reconnect our lips.

“I love you,” she says when we break for air.

My stupid grin returns and I tell her, “I love you too.” It feels so good rolling off my tongue.

Johanna cups my cheek and stares at me earnestly. “Please, don’t abandon your squad,” she begs. I blink and retract a little. I almost forgot that this was what started our fight in the first place.

“Jo…”

“You said I make you want to live,” she insists firmly. “Did you really mean that?”

“Yes,” I croak. “I did.”

“So stay safe. Stay with your squad. Promise me.”

I use the Haymitch tactic. “Okay.”

Jo squints at me doubtfully. “If you do desert, don’t take Finnick with you, okay?”

“You don’t believe me?” I ask, an eyebrow arched defensively.

“You don’t believe you,” she corrects me, and my mouth twitches guiltily. “Take the cousin with you for backup, but leave Finnick. Annie couldn’t live without him, and I’ll feel better knowing at least one of the people I love is safe.” I raise both eyebrows this time and she scoffs, “I don’t mean the same kind of love.”

“I know.”

Jo smiles sadly. “Take care of him for me, okay?”

I smirk and offhandedly suggest, “As long as you take care of Littledeen for me?” Johanna surely knows that this is sort of a pity assignment, that Prim will actually be the one taking care of her, at least for the most part. Still, she nods and seals it with a kiss.

“Deal.”

It’s not long after we settle into a comfortable silence and sleeping position that Johanna is lulled to sleep by the drugs again. I stay still and quiet, partially to avoid disturbing her and partially in the hope that I may go undetected by the hospital staff and they’ll assume I already left. I think it’s shortly after ten when I hear some footsteps grow loud in the hallway and then cease outside the door. When I open my eyes, I see a nurse staring in the window, and from the irritated look on her face, I know she’s seen me. Johanna’s body is too small to shield mine from her view.

The nurse turns away, and a few seconds later I hear a female voice that I assume to be hers speaking indistinctly.

“No, let them be,” a man says in return. It takes me a second to place the voice, though the familiar obstinate tone helps with that. The sharp footfalls of the nurse fade away, and I breathe out my apprehension and nuzzle into the top of Jo’s shoulder. I make a mental note to thank Dr. Ramsey the next time I see him. If I ever do.

My sleep is troubled throughout the night, on the rare occasion that I get any. I consider stealing Johanna’s IV drip for a bit to help settle my anxiety, like she did to me, but decide against it because that would definitely get me kicked out. It’s in the wee hours of the morning that I’m finally exhausted enough to fall into a fitful slumber. One particularly unpleasant nightmare features Caesar Flickerman kneeling on my chest, casually pinning my arms above my head and asking me highly personal questions about my relationship with Jo. What’s it like to share a bed with a deranged murderer? As though I am not one myself. Why would I ever leave the steadfast, handsome, impossibly sweet father of my tragically lost child for such a violent, contrary woman? Who’s the better kisser? I can’t spew the vitriolic comebacks that I want to because I can’t breathe. I can’t move at all; even my legs feel weighted down by some unseen force.

After much struggling, I kick myself free of the dream and catch my breath. Jo is still passed out on her back beside me, miraculously unaffected by my thrashing. Leave it to the drugs to do that. I sigh and check the time. 6:20. The lights will be up within half an hour, and I’ll have to leave around then to say goodbye to my family. They’re working this morning, so I won’t see them at breakfast. And after I eat, I’ll barely have time to grab my pack from the compartment before boarding the hovercraft. Gingerly, I detach Johanna’s IV drip from her socket. I know I can wake her up even with the drugs, but I want her to stay with me until I go, and be lucid. Call it selfish, whatever. I don’t want to say goodbye to the shell of a person I love. That’s why I’ve decided not to visit Peeta. It would only be bad for both of us, anyway.

I lie on my left side, stroking Jo’s arm to ease her into awareness. Hopefully it will be enough with the lingering drugs in her system, because I don’t want to wake her up in a way that will frighten her, but I don’t want her to be asleep until the last moment. I kiss her cheek and whisper, “Wake up, baby. Time to open your eyes.” My face puckers at those words that just came out of my mouth. What the hell has happened to me? I clear my throat and try again. “Mason, wake the fuck up,” I say, a little louder. I roll my eyes at her continued lack of response, and am just about to risk my life and limb to give her a shake when I get a better idea. She suggested it once, and it might be the perfect way to say goodbye. One last time before I go off to war and possibly don’t return.

Despite the bleakness of that last thought, I feel my mouth form an impish smile when I slip my hand under the hem of Johanna’s hospital gown. I don’t usually get to be the tease. I drag my hand up her leg, drawing soft patterns on her inner thigh and watching carefully for any sign of waking. My own stomach is already thrumming in desire. It’s been a few days, and in the week before the test I’d gotten used to multiple times a day. I never thought I’d have the sexual energy necessary for that, but Johanna seems to bring it out in me. All of my emotions are heightened around her.

The girl finally starts to squirm when I’ve moved on to teasing her left thigh. I hear a tiny gasp and see her head tip back, and with that I can’t help but drag my hand higher. She’s not wearing underwear, unsurprisingly, and I smirk with pride as my fingers sneak into her folds and discover she’s already a little slick. I begin stroking gently, enjoying her sweet little whines and the way her legs shift to open wider for me. Not to mention the feeling. I’ve missed this. And I’ll miss it again, though not nearly so much as I’ll miss her.

Johanna’s eyes flutter open and drift around, eventually landing on me. I smile though my sadness and whisper, “Morning, beautiful.” I kiss her on the cheek and she grunts in acknowledgement. A second later, I feel her hand cupping mine. I think she just wants to enjoy the feeling of me working on her until she squeezes tighter and lifts my hand.

I eye her curiously, but it’s her who asks the question, “What are you doing?”

My brow furrows even further. “You said I could wake you up like this.” Oh no, what if she wasn’t serious?

“So I did,” Jo mumbles, her eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought. She bites her lip and returns her gaze to me. “But why now?”

“Well, I’m leaving and–” My voice starts to break almost immediately, and I have to stop. I swallow the ache in my throat as best I can and shrug in an effort to downplay my own heartbreak. “Something to remember me by.”

Johanna chuckles sadly. “I don’t want this to be what I remember you by. I’ve got plenty of good memories of you already.” She swallows hard and combs her fingers through my hair. “I don’t want our last one to be making bittersweet love.”

“And here I thought you’d find it romantic,” I grumble. But honestly, even if I’m a little insulted that she didn’t like my idea and disappointed that she made me stop, I’m mostly relieved. The emotional intensity was threatening to drown me.

“It is,” she laughs half-heartedly. “It’s just a bad idea. I don’t think either of us needs this to be more difficult than it already is.” Her mouth twitches sadly as my eyes start to sting. “Why rip a broken heart to shreds?” I nod my agreement and lean down to kiss her softly, pulling my hand back out of her gown and laying it on her clothed stomach. When I draw back a moment later, Johanna Mason looks up at me with a vulnerability I never thought I’d see from her and implores, “Can you just hold me for a while?” My tears finally spill over, rolling down my cheeks and then falling to the sheets as I nod.

“As long as I can.”

Jo rolls onto her side and slips her arms around my waist, letting my upper arm support her head. We stay like that for what feels like both an impossibly short and excruciatingly long time, wrapped in each other and touching everywhere possible, sometimes kissing and sometimes just sharing breaths. She doesn’t doze off again, and I decide I made a good choice when I detached her drip.

When the lights finally turn on, my throat swells and I find a way to clutch Johanna even tighter to my constricted chest for a moment.

“You have to go,” she surmises, her voice muffled in my neck.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I dip my chin to look her in the eye. “I have to say goodbye to Mom and Prim. We’re leaving right after breakfast.” She nods, and I find her IV needle and plug it back into her socket.

She lifts an eyebrow and mutters, “I was wondering why I felt so alert.” She snorts. “I thought I was just too emotional to sleep.”

I run my fingers from the crook of her elbow down to her hand. “I wanted you here.” She squeezes my hand in understanding.

I begrudgingly untangle myself from my lover and drop from her warm bed into the room that feels chillier than it probably is. I clear my throat and adjust my clothing so it’s hopefully less evident that I literally just rolled out of bed. Johanna sits up as I round her bed to stand on the door side, dangling her legs from the edge so I can stand between them. I rest my fingertips on her knees and draw in a shaky breath, trying my best not to devolve into pathetic sobs. This is the moment we have both been dreading, and I don’t know if I can take it. She was right about not making love. As much as I wanted an opportunity to now that we’ve actually admitted we love each other, it would have made parting so soon afterward all but impossible, and I may have ended up losing my resolve to leave and give Snow what’s coming to him.

“Hey.” Johanna’s thumbs brush my cheekbones, calling my eyes up to hers. “You’ll be okay, Everdeen. We’ll be okay. I’ll be here when you get back.” She smiles. “Now go kick some Capitol ass for me.”

I wipe my nose on my shoulder and force a smile in return. “Yes, ma’am,” I croak.

Jo steadies my shoulders with her hands and my mind with her eyes. Our height differential is all but erased in this position, and it feels appropriate. “Katniss,” she breathes. “Come here.” I let myself fall forward and into her, bracing my hands on her hips, and she wraps her arms around my neck the second before our lips meet. We draw out a series of chaste kisses, neither of us wanting to be the one to pull away. We end up doing so simultaneously when the door creaks behind me. I whip my head around and identify my mother standing in the doorway.

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” she says, with just a hint of motherly guilt.

“I was just on my way to find you and Prim,” I tell her pointedly. “I’m coming.”

“Okay,” she nods. “I’ll wait outside.” She backs out of the room and the door slowly swings shut, dampening the bustle of the hallway. I turn back to Johanna and sigh.

“I have to go,” I whisper. To Johanna’s credit, she doesn’t jump on the guilt train and remind me that I technically don’t have to. She just tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and cranes her neck to plant a kiss on my forehead. I can barely see her face through a fresh round of tears when she pulls back. My voice is high and distorted when I choke out, “I love you.”

Jo forces a tight smile, tears now running down her cheeks as well. “I love you too, brainless.” She pulls me into a tight hug, locking her arms firmly around my ribcage. I loop my arms over her shoulders and rest my chin on one of them, cherishing these final moments we have together. But this isn’t all I want, or need. It’s not like we have a ton of privacy, though. Even with the curtains drawn over the larger window, it’s entirely likely that Mom is watching us through the one in the door. If not her, anyone else passing by could be. I can’t bring myself to care right now.

I get a grip on Johanna’s chin and tip it up so our lips can meet in one more kiss, one last chance to tell her everything I can’t put into words. I kiss her with fierce purpose, pouring all of my feeling and desperation into this final embrace. She responds in kind, grabbing my shirt and gasping into my mouth. I feel her ankles lock behind my thighs just after her knees squeeze shut around my hips. My hands trail up and down her sides, coming to rest atop her hipbones with my fingertips probing the small of her back. I pull my mouth out of reach before I get so tied up in it that I can’t stop. Jo compliantly releases me, all but my right hand.

“I’ll see you soon,” she says with a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah,” I rasp. “Soon.” I lift her hand to my mouth and leave a kiss on her knuckles. I let go and keep looking into her eyes as I take hesitant steps backward. And then I see a solitary tear escape her eye. That one bead rolling down her cheek sends shooting pains to my chest and gut, and I immediately turn and stride out the door without looking back, because I know that if I do, I might never be able to leave.

Mom is waiting in the hall, as she promised, and she’s greeted with her oldest daughter dissolving into tears. I cover my mouth just as a sob fights its way out of me, watching the sympathy grow on her face. “Sorry,” I barely whisper. She just takes me in her arms, and in a matter of seconds I feel her own tears trailing down my neck. I wipe my nose and eyes, telling myself to get a grip. I should be trying to comfort her. With only the rare exception, that’s how we do things.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe. I'm not even a real soldier. Just one of Plutarch's televised puppets,” I reassure her.

“I’m not sure anywhere is perfectly safe,” she admits, “but at least you’re in good hands.”

“I am,” I swear, despite the fact that I don’t really believe that myself. We break apart, but she maintains her grip on my shoulders. “You know Gale will get me back to you in one piece,” I say, in an effort to comfort both of us.

Footsteps behind me catch my attention, and I wheel around to see Prim jogging up to us. “See? I told you she’d be here,” she directs at Mom. She extends an arm and a smile my way. “Let me walk you to the doors?” she asks. I nod, but before we can escape, Mom grabs our linked arms and yanks us back.

“Hold it,” she says, and pulls both of us into her. I understand. Everything is one last one today. One last chance to send Johanna cresting into ecstasy. One last kiss. One last hug with both daughters. The sad part is, they don’t even know I am considering going off on my own to try to assassinate the President. They honestly think I’m pretty safe, yet Mom is crying, something she didn’t do even when I was reaped, either time. I can’t imagine her reaction if she knew my actual plans.

Prim is uncharacteristically silent as she escorts me to the exit, and I choose to chalk that up to her sensitivity to my already overwhelmed emotional state. When we reach the doors, she drops my arm and looks up at me, her face serious. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” I grumble before I can measure my words. She smirks, and I blush a little bit. “Guilty,” I clarify. “I don’t want to leave her, but…” Prim tilts her head curiously, and I sigh and rub the back of my neck. “Honestly, I feel better knowing both of you are somewhere Snow can’t reach you.” I remember Coin’s words after my test. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Less people to worry about makes it easier for me to function,” I elaborate. “You saw what happened in the arena when they used your voice.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replies sagely. I think I see a shadow cross her face, but she says nothing more before she throws her arms around my neck. “Be careful.”

Gale eyes me cautiously when I plop down beside him in the dining hall a few minutes later. I haven’t washed my face, so I’m sure it’s obvious what a blubbering mess I’ve been. Now, I’m just utterly spent emotionally, and glad to be done my goodbyes. I poke my scrambled eggs around my plate, no desire to eat them whatsoever. The smell is making me nauseous, quite frankly. Maybe Johanna knocked me up.

“Me too,” Gale remarks, gazing at my vacant expression.

“Hazelle drown you in tears?” I ask drolly.

“She’s not really the crying type, but it was tough.” He flicks his eyes across the table, where Finnick and Annie are sitting quietly, clutching each other’s hands. My chest clenches again at the exact type of scene I need to avoid right now, and I quickly avert my eyes to my plate. I pick up a strip of bacon and start munching on it. I need something to occupy my mouth. I know what Jo would say to that.

“You ready?” I ask my best friend, glancing back his way.

“More than ready. Hardly slept last night.” I nod and blink away. “You?”

“Me neither,” I mutter. I don’t mention that it’s for an entirely different reason. I don’t need to. Gale nudges my knee with his and throws me a sympathetic look. I shrug. I’m really getting now what he said last night about talking about feelings not making things better.

I try to eat until the clatter of silverware across the table calls my attention back to the lovebirds a couple minutes later. “See you guys at the hovercraft,” Finnick says in parting before striding off, gripping the trays in one hand and his wife in the other.

I squint at Gale and nod after our squad mate. “What’s his rush?”

“He still has to say goodbye to Johanna,” Gale says casually. Too casually, but I can appreciate the effort all the same. His answer makes me feel more guilt than longing, anyway. Despite my history of possessiveness, especially when it comes to Finnick and Jo, I didn’t intend to hog her. Gale nudges me and probes facetiously, “You two kiss and make up?”

I snort out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, something like that.” Gale arches his eyebrows, and I immediately feel blood rushing to my face. “No, not that,” I correct him. “I didn’t mean…” I’m bright red now, and Gale just laughs. “Shut up. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he scoffs.

“No, I don’t.”

I’m just forcing down the last of my food when I’m accosted by my mentor, who insists I say goodbye to Effie so she’ll be tolerable for the rest of the day. I have no feelings left to spare nor any desire to speak to another soul, but both of them have cared for me over the past year, and I owe them at least a proper farewell. I give Effie my love and gratitude, and she tells me how proud she is of her Mockingjay and the way I’ve taken flight here despite the circumstances. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at yet another lousy bird metaphor and instead play along, thanking her for helping me find my wings. That makes her smile proudly, and she waves her hand in front of her face as though to clear away the overpowering emotions. I know the feeling.

Haymitch walks me to the door. “Any last advice?” I ask when we get there. He smirks. He knows the script.

“Stay alive.”

I hustle back to Compartment 2211 and do a quick check to make sure I didn’t leave anything important behind. I wasn’t at my finest when I packed my bag last night. All my belongings are gone from the bathroom, so I move on to my drawer. When I yank it open, something rattles inside, and I immediately remember. I dig out the clothing I’m not taking to the Capitol and find the pearl buried in the bottom of the drawer, along with my other keepsakes. I didn’t think to pack them because I don’t need them in combat, but I should probably remove them in case the compartment gets reassigned and someone cleans my stuff out.

I slide open the door of 2212 to the sound of Buttercup mewling hopefully. He hops down from one of the beds and runs out into the living area, only to shoot me a glare when he identifies me. “Sorry, big guy,” I say. “Prim’s still at work.” I lay my items out on the table so my family will know I left them here, but pause before leaving. Without any conscious thought, I pluck the pearl out of the parachute and slip it into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Buttercup makes another awful noise behind me, breaking the moment, and I turn around to scowl at him. “Oh, shut up,” I grumble. He hisses, and I chuckle with a hint of what I’d swear was affection if I didn’t hate him. Maybe I have the energy for one last goodbye, so long as it’s not a sappy one. “Come here, you,” I mutter, scooping him off the floor. He meows in protest but doesn’t try to get away. “I know, I know. I hate you too.” I nuzzle into the fur on his skull, resulting in a throaty but quiet growl. “I think I might actually miss you, you horrible thing.” That’s probably Johanna’s influence.

I’m the last on board the crowded hovercraft, packed with the nine of us in my combat squad and the four members of my camera crew. It’s already standing room only, so I sit on the floor beside Finnick and lean back against Gale’s shins. He was lucky or early enough to get an actual seat. I nod at Finnick’s spot on the floor and presume, “Johanna kept you?” I see his eyes briefly flit up to Gale, but then he looks at me and nods.

“Sort of,” he admits. “It was more Annie, though. She just about lost it.” He swallows and rubs his forehead. “It’s not easy. I feel terrible leaving her.” My stomach gurgles and I shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” I concur. “I get that.” The hovercraft’s engines start up then, and there’s no point trying to converse with anyone. Once the door folds up, somewhat dampening the racket in the hangar, I glance over at Finnick again and see him watching me closely. I raise an eyebrow.

“She made me promise to take care of you, for as long as I can,” he reveals hesitantly. No surprise there, but it’s still painful to hear. It reminds me too much of last night. Singing to her. Her plea to keep Finnick safe, to keep myself safe. Suddenly, I don’t feel so emotionally drained anymore.

“She said the same thing about you,” I reply evenly, quickly blinking away before he has the chance to see any emotion in my eyes.

Finnick leans in closer and adds, “She also told me not to go with you when you go running off to assassinate President Snow.” That hits me like a blow to the diaphragm, and I can’t help but look his way, eyes wide. His stare is the definition of piercing. “Are you planning on leaving the squad, Katniss?” he asks, still quiet enough for only us to hear. Still, I hold a finger to my lips to shush him. The craft lurches unevenly off the tarmac, jostling my already uneasy stomach, and starts chugging out of the hangar.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. Finnick clearly thinks I’m full of shit, but I insist, “I really don’t.”

But even if I don’t, Johanna thinks she does. She didn’t say if, she said when. She fully expects me to break my promise to her. And why wouldn’t she? I swore I wouldn’t leave her again, yet here we are. And I can pretend I’m just doing what I have to, but I know deep in my gut that that isn’t true. Doctor Ramsey made me an offer that could have helped Johanna, and I turned him down because abandoning my dream of murdering the president was an unpleasant outcome I wasn’t even willing to consider. My love could have been enough, but that wasn’t a choice I cared enough to make.

Tears start flowing down my cheeks again as the hovercraft gains height and speed and leaves Thirteen behind. Leaves Johanna behind, like another one of their crafts did, once. And I am on board, yet again.

Snow was right. I don’t keep my promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to District 7 Profanity for all her help with this chapter. As always.


	16. The Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, sorry, another longish wait. I pounded out a couple chapters of my other longfic and, as my tumblr followers may know, I was recently marathoning The 100. And my computer was out of commission for a bit. So, that hopefully won't happen again for a while.
> 
> There is a lot of recycled/reworked canon material in this chapter, interspersed with and expanded on with original content. Such is the nature of this story, sometimes.

The energetic sounds of people milling about filter through the walls of my tent, but do nothing to foster my enthusiasm, or lack thereof. Despite having done very little physically since leaving Thirteen, my body feels as heavy as my soul, and I’m lying motionless on this thin bedroll, staring at the ceiling. Well, motionless other than rolling that damn pearl between my fingers. I’m not sure why I even do it anymore. I guess it’s just a good alternative to biting my nails down to stubs.

“Knock knock.” Finnick unzips my fly. The tent one, I mean. “Hey,” he says, poking his head through the opening. It’s a good thing I wasn’t doing anything embarrassing. The thought has crossed my mind in the five days since we pitched our camp and I’ve regained a shred of privacy, but mostly just out of boredom. I’m too sad to produce much in the way of desire, which is probably why I haven’t bothered. “Want to go for a walk before dinner?”

“Not really.”

“You look like you’re the one whose sister died,” he teases. My mouth puckers at this mention of the only noteworthy event since we got here. Mostly I’ve just been starring in boring and terribly staged combat propos and fending off Finnick’s repeated inquiries about my plans to desert. He wants to come with me. I keep telling him I don’t know what my plans are. But I know that whatever they are, they won’t involve him. That is one promise I’m going to keep. Thankfully, he hasn’t asked in the last few days, but that might be about to change.

I level a harsh glare at the handsome victor. “After my first reaping, do you really think that’s something to joke about?”

He bites his lip. “No,” he says apologetically, before crawling in the tent and zipping it shut behind him. I roll my eyes at the intrusion, but allow it. I don’t want to move, but a distraction might be helpful. “She misses you too,” Finnick tells me.

“Prim? Or Johanna?”

“Which one have you been moping about since we left?” he snorts.

I want to keep up my unfriendly expression, but I find myself sitting up hopefully. “Have you talked to her?” I know Beetee and the other brains have rewired Thirteen into Panem’s sparse telephone network for ease of communication to the rebel encampment. Boggs and some of the other higher ups have been using a telephone in the train station, but the line is only supposed to be for military use. Otherwise, I’d have called her about twelve times already.

“I know her,” he clarifies, and my shoulders droop. “She loves hard.”

“Passionate and intense,” I murmur. “Doesn’t hedge her bets.” Finnick gives me a funny look, and I shrug. “Haymitch’s words, not mine.”

“Well, they’re very accurate,” he asserts. “I’ve seen Jo heartbroken before. It’s not a pretty picture.” Finnick crosses his legs and leans forward, settling in for the unsolicited story. “She was a complete shit show on her Victory Tour. Trashed the whole time and fucking everything that moved, so I hear.” I shift uncomfortably. “I’d met her at her Victory Banquet, and we’d hit it off.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this,” I warn him, a chill flowing through me.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he chuckles. “I mean, she tried. But I’d had plenty enough sex with people I didn’t love, thanks to our dear president. Besides, I was falling for Annie really hard at the time.”

“Good for you, Mr. Morals,” I snark. “Want a pat on the back?”

“Point is, I tried to get her to talk about it. I thought she was drowning her memories and guilt from the Games.”

“But it was the girlfriend,” I gather. My stomach churns and constricts inside me. “The breakup.”

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees. “And she was a mess at the 72nd too. Guilty and sad about the boy.” He glances at the ground, deep creases in his brow. “I was with her when she got the news about her family. She literally passed out. It’s a good thing her tributes were dead, because she could barely function after that. She was either staring numbly at the wall or throwing chairs at it, no in-between.”

“Did she cry?” I whisper, my voice surprisingly thick with emotion.

“Not until the trumpets sounded,” he answers gravely. “That boy standing there, covered in blood, it did something to her.” Reminded her of all the lives she’d taken, surely. Her kills in the arena and all the deaths she’d caused since with her defiance. I more than understand. Finnick’s pensive eyes dip to the floor. “Then I thought she’d never stop.”

“And you’re telling me all this, why? So I can imagine how she must be back in Thirteen now that I’m gone?” It’s not just that, either. I’ve been selfishly trying not to think of the consequences for Johanna if I’m killed. I resume rolling the pearl, harder now, to the point of pain. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re failing miserably.” It takes a moment of observing his solemn expression and silence to make me realize that that’s not what he’s trying to do.

My eyes pop with surprise before narrowing in suspicion. “Wait, why are you trying to dissuade me from going after Snow? I thought you wanted to go.”

“I did,” he sighs, dragging his fingers through his coppery locks. “I do. But I’ve been thinking about what that would do to Annie. She’d break down if I went off-grid, much less died.” He lifts his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Don’t get me wrong, if we were ordered to infiltrate the mansion and kill him, I’d gladly do it. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing to lose my life for the cause. But Annie begged me to be careful, and… I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“Great, you’ve talked yourself out of it,” I respond flatly. “Now I don’t have to worry about Johanna killing me if you tag along.”

“Just think about it, okay?” He leaves, and I lie back down.

Truthfully, I’m already thinking about it, have been since before I even left Thirteen. But now it’s clear. I can’t run off after the president, at least not on my own. Not after the visual Finnick gave me of what would become of Johanna. Her reaction to her family’s death sounds too much like my mother at her worst, plus a lot of broken furniture. The consequences for my family aren’t pretty either, come to think of it. Maybe Mom would cope better this time, but Prim would be devastated. When she begged me to try to win my first Games, she didn’t mean she wanted me to kill anyone or come home with honor. She just wanted me to come home.

I decide to take that walk Finnick suggested. Clear my head, stretch my legs. I wander in the direction of the train station just in time to see a newly deployed squad entering camp. Gale is standing nearby, eyeing the station, but as I’m making my way toward him I notice someone else. My eyes lock with a familiar pair of hazel ones and I smile. With everything going on with Johanna since the test, I never took the time to find out if he passed.

“Soldier Kearns,” I greet him as his squad passes me. “You made it.”

“Did you doubt it?” he smirks.

“Never.” I watch him over my shoulder for a moment and catch his eyes darting to the station and back to me before he faces forward again. I check behind me, but there’s no one there but Gale. I sidle up to him and inquire, “What are you waiting for?”

“Any more squads. That was the third one in the last twenty minutes.” I don’t get what he’s on about at all, and it must show. “Thought maybe our replacement was showing up today,” he explains.

I shake my head. “Not if they came the way we did.”

“Plutarch said speedy. They could have sent some people to a closer district by hovercraft.”

“Mm,” I grunt.

I feel Gale’s eyes on me for a few seconds before he asks, “How are you holding up?”

“The same.”

“Then you’re still planning on taking off?” My eyes involuntarily dart up and over to his face. “I’ve seen you, studying that paper map, eyeing Boggs’s Holo like it’s a deer in the dead of winter.” So Gale has not missed my preparations. I hope they haven't been so obvious to the others. None of them know my mind like he does, though. “You're not planning on leaving me behind, are you?” he asks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I mumble dispassionately. Saying it aloud hurts. It’s also kind of a relief.

My best friend turns to fully face me, confusion plastered on his face. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

I sigh and avert my gaze, trying to come up with a good way to explain it without rubbing Johanna in his face. And that’s when I see him. Strolling out of the train station with his gun swinging from the strap over his shoulder. No manacles. No guards. My body is momentarily paralyzed by shock, or maybe fear, but my mouth apparently still works.

“No fucking way.”

“What?” Gale asks, his head already halfway turned to find what I’m staring at. He stiffens and takes a half step toward the station, shielding me from Peeta, but I’m already walking away.

Back at 451’s circle of tents, I locate the target of my ire immediately, sitting on a camp stool and studying a street of active pods on his Holo. “So much for not sending unstable soldiers to the battleground,” I snark. Boggs squints up at me, a touch of annoyance in his expression. Maybe he didn’t know after all. But that doesn’t make me any less angry. I step out of the way and sweep my arm dramatically toward the train station.

Peeta is a few campsites away, heading toward us at the urging of Gale’s gun in his back. It doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Unlike my commander. “No,” I barely hear Boggs say as he stands up in disbelief. “It must be some kind of mistake.”

“Yes, I’m sure they flew him all the way here by mistake,” I agree with Johanna-level sarcasm. I catch a glimpse of Jackson unzipping her tent as I continue, “Call Coin, let her know their error. She’ll get him picked up immediately.”

“That’s enough, Soldier,” Boggs barks with just enough force to shut me up.

“What the hell is going on out here?” demands his second in command, crawling out of her tent. I cast a pointed glare in the direction of the two boys just entering 451’s camp, and her gaze follows. She scoffs and immediately marches toward them, but another voice stops her.

“Peeta?” Finnick steps into the campsite, his face slack with shock. He blinks rapidly and pulls on his signature grin, then nods warmly at his old ally. “Good to see you.”

“Thanks, Finnick,” Peeta replies with only a hint of suspicion. He looks my way. “Nice to see a friendly face.” That only makes mine even less friendly.

“What are you doing here?” Finnick queries.

“I’m here to replace Soldier Leeg 2.”

“You?” Jackson asks disbelievingly, speaking for all of us.

Peeta lifts his fist to show the 451 stamped on his hand in fresh purple ink. “Me,” he says, circling it around his face so everyone gets a clear view, including the other soldiers and crewmembers that have started to gather around.

“This is absurd,” Jackson declares. She turns to her superior to garner support, but he’s already halfway to the four of them.

“Your weapon, Soldier Mellark,” he orders, holding out a firm hand to Peeta. The blond boy shrugs the strap from his shoulder and hands the gun over rather indifferently. “I’m going to go make a call,” Boggs announces, scanning the group with an authoritative gaze. “I expect everyone to still be alive when I get back.” With that, he makes for the station.

“It won't matter," Peeta tells the rest of us. "The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up.”

Maybe they do. But if Coin sent Peeta here, she's decided something else as well. That I'm of more use to her dead than alive.

***

I've never really seen Boggs angry before. Not when I've disobeyed his orders or puked on him, not even when Gale broke his nose. But he's angry when he returns from his phone call with the president. The first thing he does is instruct Soldier Jackson to set up a two-person, round-the-clock guard on Peeta. Then he takes me on a walk, weaving through the sprawling tent encampment until our squad is far behind us.

“I’m honestly more surprised than you are,” he admits haltingly. “I thought the president and I were on the same page regarding the unstable victors.” My eyes dart over heatedly and he adds, “For lack of a better term.”

“And she sends Peeta, not Jo,” I snort. “Figures. I’ll be dead before I ever see her again. There are so many bad memories to set him off around here. He’ll try and kill me for sure.”

“I’ll keep him contained, Katniss,” he assures me. Not that I believe him. I trust his intentions, but I’ve seen the strength and desperation that mutt Peeta can act with. And I’m still rattled from the visual of him walking toward me with a gun. Seeing him do pushups under heavy guard was nothing. Even then, I doubted Coin’s intentions. Turns out I was right.

“Does Coin try to kill everyone who disagrees with her?” I blurt. Boggs raises his eyebrows in alarm and scans the area, and I immediately follow suit. Thankfully, no one seems to have heard.

“She claims she’s not trying to kill you,” is his quiet and even reply.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

His brow creases and he glances off into camp. “I’d rather believe Plutarch got to her. I’ve never known Alma Coin to plot anyone’s death before.” He takes a long look at me. “But you’re not just anyone, Katniss.”

“Right,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’m the Mockingjay.”

“Yes, you’re the Mockingjay,” he repeats pointedly. “And you said we’re no better than the Capitol. That means, by extension, she’s no better than Snow.”

I blink down and mumble, “That may have been a slight exaggeration. I was upset.”

“People take your passionate statements seriously,” he declares. “That’s why we rescued you in the first place.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You’ve made yourself a glaring threat to Coin. It was bad enough when you undercut her power by forcing her to give the other victors immunity. You’ve never seemed to much more than tolerate her, this whole time. But now you’ve given her a solid reason to believe you would not support her leadership.”

“So she'll kill me to shut me up,” I deduce.

“It might be more that keeping you alive is no longer a priority,” he suggests. “Especially if you don’t support her. As she said, your primary objective, to unite the districts, has succeeded. Showing Peeta fighting for our cause could actually provide a boost at this point, turn some of those in the Capitol who see him as the voice of reason. But as for you, there's only one last thing you could do to add fire to the rebellion.”

“Die,” I say quietly.

“Yes. Give us a martyr to fight for,” he confirms. “But that's not going to happen under my watch, Soldier Everdeen. I'm planning for you to have a long life.”

“Why?” This kind of thinking will only bring him trouble. “You don't owe me anything.”

“Because you've earned it,” he says. “Now get back to your squad.”

I do as he says, but my mood only falls further as I retrace my steps. Boggs can believe whatever he wants, but I don’t doubt for a second that Coin wants me dead, not after what he said about the weight of my opinion. Seeing her weapon of choice calmly pitching his tent back at our site makes me furious. “What time is my watch?” I ask Jackson.

She squints at me in doubt, or maybe she's just trying to get my face in focus. “I didn't put you in the rotation.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it,” she says.

I speak up so the whole squad can hear me clearly. “I wouldn't be shooting Peeta. He's gone. Johanna's right. It'd be just like shooting another of the Capitol's mutts.” I know I’m sort of twisting my lover’s words, that she was being facetious when she delivered them, but I’m too pissed to feel guilty right now. It feels good to say something horrible about him, out loud, in public, after all the humiliation I've felt since his return.

“Well, that sort of comment isn't recommending you either,” remarks Jackson.

“Put her in the rotation,” Boggs intervenes from behind me.

Jackson shakes her head and makes a note. “Midnight to four. You’re on with me.”

The dinner whistle sounds, and Gale and I line up at the canteen. “Maybe we _should_ take off, before he kills you.” I know he has plenty of his own motives for revenge against Snow that make him partial, but he also has a point. I might be safer in the streets than in Coin’s clutches, where she could surely find numerous ways to orchestrate my death, if not by Peeta’s hand.

“Maybe,” I agree. “I want to talk to Haymitch. Find out if he knows what’s going on in Thirteen, why Peeta’s actually here.”

Gale narrows his eyes. “You don’t think he’s just here for the propos.”

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow. “Do you?” I retort.

“Why would Coin want you dead? She’s put so much effort into protecting you.”

“It’s a long story. But I don’t think she trusts me. And I sure as hell don’t trust her.” I sigh and blink away, scratching behind my ear. “Just because Snow intended Peeta to work against the rebellion when he turned him into a weapon to kill me, it doesn’t mean Coin can’t use him for her own purposes. I don’t think she’s above that.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly she’s above,” Gale replies, “but she’s better than the alternative.”

I nod tersely. “We’ll see about that.”

We collect dinner and gather with the rest of the squad and crew around the heater in the center of our campsite. It’s already turning chilly, and I don’t just mean the air. At first I assume that Peeta is the cause of the unease, but by the end of the meal, I’ve noticed more than a few unfriendly looks being directed my way. I finish quickly and go crouch beside Boggs’s stool.

“Could I get a favor?” I ask. He lifts one eyebrow just a hair. “I’m still worried about… what we talked about. I’m wondering if you could set up a call between Haymitch and me.”

“You know the line needs to be free for military use, Katniss.”

“Yes, but he’s my mentor, and I need his advice to properly conduct myself on the battlefield,” I reason chirpily. I think I actually see Boggs roll his eyes. Maybe anyone would, if they had to deal with me all day long. “Please, I just need… I need to talk to someone who’s a little less partial.”

“He didn’t seem very impartial after the Block test fiasco,” Boggs reminds me pointedly.

“He felt betrayed, like all of us. But before the test, he advised me to give Coin the benefit of the doubt. He’s a reasonable man, Boggs. At least when he’s sober.”

Boggs gives me a long look but eventually acquiesces, “I’ll see what I can do.”

I exhale heavier than I mean to. “Thank you.”

Boggs makes good on his word, and within the hour he is handing me the receiver in the train station. “Hello, sweetheart,” comes Haymitch’s gruff voice. “I hear you’re in need of some mentorly advice.”

“Sort of.” I cast a look at Boggs, who nods and meanders over to the door to give us some privacy. “I don’t know what to do about Peeta.”

“There’s not much you can do,” he replies, more callously than I expected. “He’s been deployed and you’re just going to have to live with that.”

"Well, I can't exactly live with it if he kills me, can I?" I snort defensively.

"You don't think Gale and Finnick can keep you safe?"

"From Peeta, probably.” I bite my lip. “But he's not who I'm really worried about."

“I know,” he assures me gravely. Of course Haymitch knows. We’re practically psychic. “After the Block incident, I’m hesitant to trust anyone from Thirteen, least of all her.”

I consider this a second before admitting, “I trust Boggs. I know he has good intentions.”

“Good intentions don’t mean shit, Katniss,” Haymitch warns me. “Not in a war.”

I already know this, of course. We think we’re the good guys, yet we’ve done some pretty awful things in the name of taking down the Capitol. Chief among them, the Nut. If Gale can justify that to himself, surely the right soldier could be convinced that I’m a threat to be eliminated.

“Gale said he thinks we might be safer elsewhere,” I hazard.

“No, absolutely not,” Haymitch decrees. “You have no idea what you’re walking into. There’s a minefield of pods out there, and even if you could get a Holo, the map is outdated. As Leeg 2 found out.”

“Okay, so then what do you suggest I do?” I retort. “Stay here and wait for Peeta to snap?”

“You could start by not calling him a Capitol mutt and saying you could shoot him no problem,” is my mentor’s icy answer. I throw a dirty look at Boggs. No one else has had the chance to tell Haymitch what I said. “What are you trying to do? Provoke him into an attack?”

“Of course not. I just want him to leave me alone,” I snap.

“Well, he can't. Not after what the Capitol put him through. Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he'd kill you, but Peeta doesn't know that. He doesn't understand what's happened to him. So you can't blame him-“

“I don't!”

“You do!” insists Haymitch. “You're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a fully loaded weapon next to you ‘round the clock. But I think it's time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?”

I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn.

“You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?” When I don't respond, Haymitch adds a curt, “Try and remember.” I think he’s about to hang up on me, but then he unexpectedly says, “Before you go, there’s someone else who wants to talk to you.” I hear the rustle of the receiver being handed over, then the sound of someone else’s breathing.

“Hello?” I venture.

“Hey, brainless,” purrs Johanna. Tears instantly well up in my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

“Oh my god, Jo.” My voice cracks before I even finish that sentence. “It’s so good to hear your voice, baby. You have no idea.”

“Of course I do,” she snorts. “More than you do, probably. Until Haymitch pulled me out of the hospital, I didn’t even know if you were still there.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” I wipe my eyes. “Gale thinks we should because Peeta is too dangerous, but I trust my squad to keep me safe.” I say that last bit loud enough for Boggs to hear, while catching his eye and nodding sincerely. He blinks and nods once in reply.

"They shouldn't have to," Johanna protests. "Sending Peeta after how they treated me, it's total bullshit."

"Couldn't agree more,” I concur. "At least if something triggered you out here, me being around might help. But for Peeta, I am the trigger."

“Everything there is. It’s so irresponsible, sending him for fucking propos. He’s going to get someone killed, but they don’t care.”

I sigh and rub my brow, hoping that that someone isn’t me. I opt against telling her that I think that’s the point. “How are things out there?” I inquire. “How’s my family?”

“They’re fine,” says Johanna. “So’s Annie. You can let Finnick know.”

“Oh, good,” I breathe. “He’s been worried, I can tell.”

“Well, I promised him I’d keep an eye on her, and I can’t have him chewing me out when he gets back.” She pauses a moment. “Honestly, it helps me too. Having someone around who’s going through the same thing, you know?”

“Yeah,” I answer, recalling my earlier conversation with Finnick. “I do.”

“I’ve brought Boobs into the fold too,” she adds proudly. “Her boy shipped out a few days ago and she’s been really down. Thought she could use some company.” I can’t help smiling. Johanna the big sister is endearing as hell.

“Yeah, he just got here, actually,” I inform her. “I saw him entering camp around when Peeta showed up.”

“Good, I’ll let her know. She could use the boost.” Jo hesitates a second. “She told me just today that they finally hit it right before he left.” Smugness fills her tone. “I told you it would only rip a broken heart to shreds.”

I ignore that obvious jab in favor of asking, “Wait, they weren’t already doing it?”

“Well, they’re like what? Fourteen? Fifteen?” I can just hear her smirk when she purrs, “Up until recently, you were a seventeen year-old virgin, my dear.” My cheeks burn bright red. I’m sure Haymitch is still standing right there.

“I just meant like the way they look at each other and… you know what? Forget it.” Normally the sound of Johanna’s laughter would only make me more indignant when directed at me, but somehow it’s almost soothing at the moment. “Is she retaking her test?” I ask, shirking the spotlight. “She’s eligible in a couple days, right?”

“Yeah,” Jo affirms. “I’m not, though.” I hear her gulp. “I’ve been training some to pass the time, but I’m not going through that again.”

“No one’s asking you to,” I assure her quietly. “Least of all me. I wish you were here, but it’s not worth it.”

“Do you really?” she asks with a touch of accusation, making my brow furrow.

“Do I what?”

“Wish I was there.” Before I have the chance to answer, she continues, “Prim told me you were glad Snow couldn’t get to her in Thirteen. Is it the same with me?”

“You’re not Prim, Johanna,” I tell her decidedly. “You’re a warrior, and you belong here. I do wish you were here, watching my back.” I swallow and whisper, “Holding me at night.”

Jo pauses a beat. “Holding you, huh?” she drawls suggestively.

“Among other things,” I blush. I clear my throat. “Have you been spending a lot of time with her?”

“Prim? I’ve been staying with them, actually. They’ve sort of adopted me.” Fresh tears brim in my eyes and I smile. Maybe Johanna has some family left after all.

“Of course they did,” I smirk. “Buttercup must have insisted.”

“He was very happy to see me,” she brags. “I’d been stuck in the hospital for almost a week at that point. They brought me home the day you left.” Home. Such a foreign concept, these days. I guess the compartment is still better than the hospital.

“Wait,” I think aloud, “I thought you said Haymitch stole you out of the hospital.”

“Oh, yeah,” she bumbles nonchalantly. “They readmitted me this morning, for some tests.” I frown. She’s trying too hard to sound unaffected.

“Do I need to be worried?”

There’s a slight hesitation on the other end before Jo replies, “Not about me.”

“What?”

She sighs resignedly. “Look, Katniss, you’re fighting a war out there. Worry about that. You can’t do a thing about anything that’s happening out here.” I brood silently and she insists, “Listen, I’m fine, really.”

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” I allege. “That’s just going to make me worry more, okay? Not knowing is worse because I’ll spend hours analyzing what it might be, and my focus needs to be here.”

“Exactly. Worry about the things you can control, Katniss. Like Peeta.”

“I can’t control Peeta,” I scoff. “Are you nuts?”

“You have more power over him than you think,” she asserts. “Trust me, I was there. Even once he was hijacked, he still screamed for you. Longingly.”

That shuts me up for a second. I blink away the shock and whisper, “Really?”

“In his sleep,” she specifies. I snort. “That proves the part of him that wants you is still inside him somewhere,” she insists. “And since they used you against him, I think you’re the only person who can truly bring him back. And you should. Haymitch is right."

I shake my head incredulously. "Are you being serious?"

"Completely,” she states firmly. “I'm hardly Peeta’s biggest fan, but he didn't deserve what happened to him."

"None of us did,” I argue. “You and Finn have had it way worse than either of us." There’s a long pause before Johanna speaks again.

"You know, Katniss, we can't bring back the dead. But we can bring back the lost. So let's focus on that."

***

"These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you," Peeta pipes up. I force my weary eyes back open. The warmth from the heater is threatening to lull me to sleep on my watch. "Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth."

That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. I'm sick of being made out to be the bad guy, especially in public. But I revisit those telephone conversations and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. Toward saving my lost friend. Boyfriend. Ex. Whatever he is.

“I never wanted to kill you,” I say. “Except for when I thought you were helping the careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as... an ally.” That's a good, safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” I twitch my eyebrows. I guess we're in the same boat, there. Being with Johanna only further complicates how I relate to Peeta. I focus on him again, watching as he weaves Finnick’s rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what's real anymore, and what's made up.”

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. “Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.” 

“Ask who? Who can I trust?”

“Well, us for starters,” answers Jackson. “We're your squad.”

“You're my guards,” he points out.

“That, too,” she says. “But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It's not the kind of thing we forget.”

In the quiet that follows, I try to imagine not being able to tell illusion from reality. Not knowing if Prim or my mother loved me. If Snow was my enemy. If the person across the heater saved or sacrificed me. With very little effort, my life rapidly morphs into a nightmare. I suddenly want to tell Peeta everything about who he is, and who I am, and how we ended up here. But words were never my thing. Gale was right, I shouldn’t lead with them.

Tentatively, I slide to the ground and shuffle closer to Peeta, leaving my rifle behind. I can feel several pairs of wary eyes on me, but I want to show a bit of trust in him, hopefully without making him feel threatened. But there’s also some pull deep within me to do so, to share his space, like I used to so comfortably. I push away any conscious thought of that, because it’s just confusing. I’m still a couple of feet from him, anyway. Just within arm’s reach. I keep myself calm by remembering that Jackson still has her gun at the ready. Peeta glances up briefly, but says nothing.

“I want you to know, I'm really sorry about what happened to you,” I whisper. He actually holds my gaze this time, without anger lurking behind his eyes. Some suspicion, sure, but it’s an improvement. “That you were left behind. Johanna told me some of the things that happened there.” I shake my head. “I never should have let them split us up.” Despite the candidness of my confession, Peeta barely even blinks, just goes back to tying knots. I do my best to hold in a sigh. This whole effort is probably futile.

“She told me you're living together,” he states a minute later, still staring at the rope. My heart jumps into my throat. There’s no way he could know, is there? He's only seen Jo and I together once or twice since the rescue, and I don't think she'd tell him. She cares about him too much. I watch him edgily for any sign of an attack, anyway. All I pick up is a hint of a smirk. “No one's died yet?” There’s a bit of that old light in his eyes when he flits them back over to me.

I laugh, more out of surprise than actual amusement. “No, not yet,” I smile genuinely.

“Good,” he muses. He goes quiet after that, and I don’t know what else to say. I feel terribly awkward just sitting here, but I think retreating to my stool would send the wrong message, so I stay put. Eventually, I relax, and am almost able to enjoy these hours of proximity. It’s hardly our day on the roof, but I’ll take it.

A few minutes before four, I stretch my legs out in an effort to wake them up. Peeta notices, and something like urgency appears in his features. I almost think he’s about to beg me to stay, but it turns out something else is plaguing him.

“Your favorite color… it's green?” he asks tentatively. I feel a stab of pain deep in my chest. I can’t imagine what it must be like inside his head. Maybe that’s for the best.

“That's right,” I confirm. Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.”

“Orange?” He seems unconvinced.

“Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that's what you told me once.”

“Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” He focuses on me again, and I see a glint of the orange light emanating from the heater reflecting in his eyes. My stomach clenches and more words tumble out.

“You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

In the morning, Gale, Finnick, and I go out to shoot some glass off the buildings for the camera crew. When we get back to camp, Peeta's sitting in a circle with the soldiers from 13, who are armed but talking openly with him. Jackson has devised a game called “Real or Not Real” to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it's true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. This seems like a good idea until I realize that I'll be the only one who can confirm or deny most of what weighs on him.

Jackson breaks us up into watches. She matches up Finnick, Gale, and me each with a soldier from Thirteen. This way Peeta will always have access to someone who knows him more personally. I hang around camp and catch snippets of his conversation with Gale, which mostly centers around District 12. His exchanges with Finnick are much less benign, however, and I find myself fleeing when he gets to the topic of the tracker jacker attack.

I walk a brisk circle around the camp, trying in vain to steady my nerves and clear that haunting buzzing sound from my brain. I end up sitting on the sidewalk of a block we cleared a few days ago, knees pulled up to my chest. It’s quieter here, but now Glimmer’s screams are echoing in my ears, and I don’t notice anyone in the vicinity until a long shadow casts itself on the street before me.

“Katniss?” a man’s voice calls from behind me. Well, sort of.

“Silas.” I turn my head to meet his eyes. They widen a little, but he doesn’t comment on this. Or my embarrassingly puffy eyes and nasally voice, thankfully. “Did you follow me?” I ask, just before snuffling and wiping my dripping nose.

“Not far,” he protests defensively. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” He squints and tips his head. “But I guess you’re not.” He flicks his eyes in the direction of 451’s campsite. “That must be tough.”

I snort. “That's one word for it.”

The boy bites his lip and seems to suffer a moment of indecision before lowering himself to mirror my position on the ground. I don’t really mind. I’d rather be stuck with Twiggy than my own thoughts. He hugs his knees tighter and nods toward camp. “Does he know?” 

“Know what?” I mumble. Silas tilts his head again and narrows his eyes incredulously. Oh, duh. I shake my head. “How would he? As far as he knows, we hate each other.”

“Don't you?” He shoots me an impish grin that I can’t help but return.

“Maybe a little.” I shove him roughly, forcing him to release his lanky legs to plant one of his palms on the pavement. “Smartass.”

He laughs and swivels on his butt to face me. “I thought she was going to murder you after you got her killed in that capture scenario.”

“She got herself killed,” I scoff. “That's what blind devotion does. Maybe it's a good thing she's not here.” His eyes flicker, and I immediately backpedal, “I mean, don't get me wrong, if Boobs shows up I'm sure-”

“Boobs?” he interjects. Oh, shit. “That's what you guys call her?”

I can’t let the kid know I’m embarrassed, so I cock my head and remark, “In our defense, it is one of her more distinguishing features.”

Kearns bites his tongue, trying to hold in a smile. “True.”

“Do you miss her?”

He narrows his eyes and sarcastically drawls, “No, I'm so glad to be rid of her, oh my god.”

I chuckle. “I never realized you had so much personality, Twiggy.”

“You never bothered to find out,” is his reply.

I blink to the ground. “Sorry.”

“You have more important things to worry about,” he shrugs. He seems legitimately unbothered, so I just stare into the street for a minute.

“What's her name?” I eventually ask. I glance over to see him blinking in surprise.

“Foligno? It’s Carli.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. “I meant to ask Jo when I talked to her last night, but I forgot.” I toss a hand in the air. “Apparently, they hang out now. Who knew?”

“It started not long after you left, actually,” he informs me. “I think she was lonely.”

I swallow and bite my lip. “Undoubtedly.”

He walks with me back to camp when it’s time for me to take my turn with Peeta, and I peel off with a grateful nod. The watch starts mercifully slowly, with only a few relatively impersonal questions. The name of our math teacher when we were little, things like that. Every question feels painful and loaded under the circumstances, but nothing of much note is discussed in the first hour or so. Not until Peeta brings up the Victory Tour.

“Your dress in Seven, was it blue? Velvet?”

“No,” I snicker. “That was the one in Two. The one Johanna said she wanted to tear off my back, before she tore her own off in the elevator.” I cock an eyebrow. “Ring a bell? It was pretty memorable, in my opinion.”

Peeta smirks. “Hard to forget that one. And I remember how embarrassed you were. It was adorable.” His eyes dance, and mine get caught in them. A smile grows on my lips, and when he returns it I duck it into my collar and clear my throat.

“The dress in Seven was green,” I mumble, willing the blush from my cheeks. “Of course.”

“Your favorite.”

“Yes. I didn’t wear any orange dresses, though,” I chuckle. Then I pause in thought. “But Effie’s hair was orange.”

“I’m not in a mood for a lecture,” he says under his breath. My eyes widen. “You snapped at her and stormed out of the train car. That’s when we talked about the colors, wasn’t it?” he babbles hopefully.

“Real. That was before we got to our first stop. Eleven.” I gulp. “Do you remember that?”

“I said we’d give Thresh and Rue’s families some of our winnings,” he says. “I remember I did the whole speech because it was hard for you, because of Rue.” He squints into thin air and grimaces. “I remember you said something after, and a man got shot. But I don’t remember what you said. They showed me the footage in Thirteen, but I still get confused when I try to recall it.”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “We can talk about something easier.” Something easier for me to deal with, mostly. I shouldn’t have brought that up. “What do you remember of me from in Twelve?” 

“Other than the bread and the dandelion?” he muses. Ugh, so much for easier to deal with. He hums a bit and then goes silent. I’m getting used to this by now. He often takes several minutes to come up with even the most superficial of details. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn't even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try.

“You like cheese buns,” he declares abruptly. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I smile. “They were my favorite until the lamb stew.”

“With the plums,” he tacks on. “Caesar eats it by the bucketful.” My eyes are suddenly stinging, and I blink over to where my partner Homes is sitting, observing us from enough of a distance to make the conversation at least feel private. He gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Real,” I rasp. I clear my throat. “You remember the interviews.”

“I remember mine,” he clarifies. “Parts of yours. The videos are helping me sort that out. And I remember you attacking me after and sending me to the infirmary.” He winces again. “The way I remember it is not how it happened, though. I know, I’ve talked to Haymitch about it.” He shrugs. “Assuming I can trust him.”

“I didn’t mean to injure you,” I whisper. “I was angry that I wasn’t let in on that plan. Not that I’d have agreed to it.”

“Well, that’s how I felt about all the plans you and Haymitch made without me, so I’m pretty sure we’re even,” he grouses. He kicks roughly at a pebble. “Not that I ever gave you stitches.” My stomach gurgles and my throat swells. It’s becoming painfully obvious that no matter what subject matter we touch on, it’s going to be difficult.

“Yes, Peeta,” I retort weakly, “I think we can all agree you’re the longsuffering one around here.” I know I need to give him a little leeway to be angry if I’m going to help bring him back. Johanna was the same way. I’m just no good at being someone’s punching bag.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he sneers.

“No,” I cut in. “It’s a good idea. You need this. I just…” I swallow. “It’s hard for me to rehash all the ways I’ve failed you.”

“I failed you too,” he points out. “I didn’t protect you either.”

“No one expected you to protect me,” I mumble.

His eyes blaze up instantly. “Oh, right, because you’re the warrior and I’m the weakling?”

“No, because you actually deserved protecting!” I snap. Not that he’s wrong, but I’m not going to tell him that.

He chuckles darkly and stands up. “You’re so full of shit, Katniss.” He jams his hands in his pockets and wanders toward Homes. He doesn’t look back.

I sigh and bury my face in my hands. Is this how it’s always going to be with him? A glimpse of what we used to be, dashed by resentment and tracker jacker venom? It would almost be easier not to remember. I’d be lying if I said some part of my heart doesn’t ache for Peeta. The love I feel for him, whatever kind it is, is warm and familiar. But it’s not the passion I feel for Johanna. And it’s buried under so much pain, I’m not sure it’s worth digging up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, D7P. Even though she pisses me off sometimes.


	17. Second Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive all the recycled content. It's chopped up and moved around and spliced with original content, but there's a lot, hence the quick update. I prefer to jump around or summarize existing scenes, but there were some changes I wanted to show playing out due to deviations from canon near the beginning that stem from the previous chapter. So if I did jump around the unchanged stuff even more than I do in this chapter, it would have gotten very choppy and hard to follow. I wanted it to flow, read as easy as it does in canon, reflect Katniss's narration style. Of course, rights to the series and the characters belong to Suzanne Collins.

This is not how I wanted to get my hands on Boggs’s Holo. I stare numbly, wiping the blood from it with my bare hands as I stumble back to where my commander lies legless in a massive pool of blood. Too massive. He’ll be gone within minutes. Homes has the stump of Bogg’s left thigh cupped by some sort of compression bandage, but it's already soaked through. He's trying to tourniquet the other above the existing knee. Finnick's attempting to revive Messalla, who was thrown into a wall by the explosion Boggs triggered with his misstep. My ears are still ringing, but I can hear Jackson barking into a field communicator, trying unsuccessfully to alert the camp to send medics.

How is it possible that we were all in fits of laughter at Mitchell’s horrendous acting skills not a minute ago?

I kneel beside Boggs, prepared to repeat the role I played with Rue, with the morphling from 6, giving him someone to hold on to as he's released from life. But Boggs has both hands working the Holo. He's typing in a command, pressing his thumb to the screen for print recognition, speaking a string of letters and numbers in response to a prompt. A green shaft of light bursts out of the Holo and illuminates his face. He says, “Unfit for command. Transfer of prime security clearance to Squad Four-Five-One Soldier Katniss Everdeen.” It's all he can do to turn the Holo toward my face. “Say your name.”

“Katniss Everdeen,” I say into the green shaft. Suddenly, it has me trapped in its light. I can't move or even blink as images flicker rapidly before me. Scanning me? Recording me? Blinding me? It vanishes, and I shake my head to clear it. “What did you do?”

“Prepare to retreat!” Jackson hollers.

Finnick's yelling something back, gesturing to the end of the block where we entered. Black, oily matter spouts like a geyser from the street, billowing between the buildings, creating an impenetrable wall of darkness. It seems to be neither liquid nor gas, mechanical nor natural. Surely it's lethal. There's no heading back the way we came.

Deafening gunfire rings out as Gale and Leeg 1 begin to blast a path across the stones toward the far end of the block. I recognise this is as rudimentary attempt at minesweeping when another bomb detonates, opening a hole in the street ten yards away. Homes and I latch on to Boggs and begin to drag him after Gale. Agony takes over and he's crying out in pain and I want to stop, to find a better way, but the blackness is rising above the buildings, swelling, rolling at us like a wave.

I'm yanked backward, lose my grip on Boggs, slam into a solid body. “Katniss, we need to go!” comes a panicked voice from behind me. Peeta. I spin around and look up into his eyes, pupils blown with fear. “Get out of here, go! What are you doing? Go!” I’m surely going mad, now. I barely retain my grip on the present enough to shove him forward to my previous post at Boggs’s shoulder.

“I’m not leaving him!” I scream. “Help us!” Peeta looks like he’s about to vomit or pass out, but he grasps our commander’s vest and hauls him forward, purposely looking away from the gore. I drop back to get a grip on Bogg’s pants, and Mitchell grabs the other side. Between the four of us, we’re able to carry him forward to the door of the corner apartment, which Gale and Leeg 1 have just shot open. We scurry through the inappropriately bright and cheery living room and hallway before setting him down on the marble floor of the kitchen.

The others stream in after us, along with the noxious tarlike smell coming from the street. As the door slams shut behind Cressida, we hear the windows in the living room groan and shatter. “Fumes!” Gale shouts, pointing urgently at the door. He and the brothers grab towels and aprons to stuff in the cracks. Messalla seems to just be coming to, groaning from where Finnick has deposited him on the floor, away from Boggs and all his blood. I’m about to return my full attention to my commander when someone else captures it.

“Peeta?” He’s bent over a bright yellow sink, shaking, his hands squeezing the lip of the counter so hard they’ve gone as white as his horrified complexion. I rise from my squat beside Boggs and cautiously touch between his shoulder blades. He flinches and gasps, but doesn’t strike. “Are you okay?”

Peeta turns his head enough to meet my gaze. His eyes are still black, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. “Katniss, I-” He suddenly jolts and doubles over the sink with a cry of pain, and before I even realize it, I’m gripping his shoulder and rubbing his upper back.

“Hey, I’m right here.”

“I shouldn’t be,” he barely squeaks. He swallows hard. “They shouldn’t have sent me here.”

I feel a tug on my pant leg and look down to see Boggs staring at me urgently. I return to my crouch and he forces the Holo into my hand. His lips are moving, but I can't make out what he's saying. I lean my ear down to his mouth to catch his harsh whisper. “Don't trust them. Don't go back. Kill Snow.”

My eyes grow wide. I resigned myself to staying back a couple of days ago, and now suddenly I have the Holo and Boggs’s blessing? I feel my resolve wavering. “But I promised-”

“It’s what you came here to do.”

What I’m here to do. Gale said the same thing the day Peeta showed up. Turns out I’m kidding no one, not even myself. I didn't go through training and that horrible rib treatment just to hang out in camp and pretend to be part of the battle. I'm a warrior, not an actor. And really, when I think about it, Jo just didn’t want me abandoning my squad against orders. Now I have my orders, and if I can convince the others to come with me, I’ll have the protection she wanted. My choice is made clear when I recall one more promise, chief among the others: to kill Snow.

I draw back so I can see Boggs’s face, mouth opening to tell him I’ll grant his last wish. But he’s already dead. “He's gone?” Finnick asks. I nod, still staring into our commander’s lifeless eyes. “We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they've got us on surveillance tapes.”

“Count on it,” says Castor. “All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off the black wave manually when they saw us taping the propo.”

“Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately. Probably an electromagnetic pulse device. But I'll get us back to camp. Give me the Holo.” Jackson reaches for the unit, but I clutch it to my chest.

“No. Boggs gave it to me,” I argue.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snaps. Of course, she thinks it's hers. She's second in command.

“It's true,” Homes testifies. “He transferred the prime security clearance to her while he was dying. I saw it.”

“Why would he do that?” demands Jackson.

I honestly have no idea. Boggs wasn’t thrilled with our faux-mission either, but I never expected him to turn around and tell me to do the opposite. I want to follow his orders, but the first one is tricky. I have to trust the squad if I want a bigger party on the mission, but maybe more people just means a larger chance of detection. And how could I convince them to come with me, anyway? I decide to focus on my immediate problem: maintaining possession of the Holo.

“Because I'm on a special mission for President Coin. I think Boggs was the only one who knew about it.”

This in no way convinces Jackson. “To do what?”

Why not tell them the truth? It's as plausible as anything I'll come up with. But it must seem like a real mission, not revenge. “To assassinate President Snow before the loss of life from this war makes our population unsustainable.”

“I don't believe you,” declares Jackson. “As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me.”

“No,” I assert. “That would be in direct violation of President Coin's orders.”

Guns are pointed. Half the squad at Jackson, half at me. Someone's about to die, when Cressida speaks up. “It's true. That's why we're here,” she explains, gesturing at her crew. “Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Peeta contributes. My surprised eyes flick his way and see his have returned to normal. “Plutarch and Coin asked me to serve as a guide once we infiltrate the president’s mansion. I split my time as a prisoner between there and the Training Center. They’re connected by tunnels, actually.” Jackson squints at him disbelievingly, and he smirks, “You didn't think I was sent for my shooting skills, did you?” He's so convincing, I almost believe him. But of course, this is Peeta, the talented wordsmith. Peeta, who got the Capitol itself to protest the Games with one brilliant lie. This Peeta is almost the boy I left at the lightning tree. My Peeta.

“Then why were you upset when he showed up?” Jackson grills me.

“I didn’t know,” I answer, still gaping at him, hoping my genuine surprise is only more convincing. “And I guess Boggs didn’t either until he talked to Coin.” I want to ask him and Cressida why they’re lying for me, why they’re fighting for us to go on with my self-appointed mission. Now's not the time.

“We have to go!” says Gale. “I'm following Katniss. If you don't want to, head back to camp. But let's move!” I watch with relief as the various members of the squad silently nod and ready their weapons.

“Boggs?” asks Leeg 1.

“We can't take him. He'd understand,” says Finnick. Finnick! I watch with dismay as he frees Boggs's gun from his shoulder and slings the strap over his own. I’m such a moron. How can I gamble with the life of Finnick, who I swore I’d protect? Even if I didn’t care what Johanna wanted, he told me he didn’t think running after Snow was worth making Annie a widow. But he seems totally unfazed when he nods at me and says, “Lead on, Soldier Everdeen.”

He’s right, we need to go. I don’t have time to waste trying to come up with a way to exclude him from the mission. Now that’s Peeta’s wormed his way into it, I basically have to take the squad for protection in case he goes mutt again. As I look at the Holo for direction, I realize I need them for something else, too. “I don't know how to use this,” I admit to Jackson. “Boggs hadn’t gotten around to teaching me yet. We weren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow.”

Jackson scowls, snatches the Holo from me, and taps in a command. An intersection comes up. “If we go out the kitchen door, there's a small courtyard, then the back side of another corner apartment unit. We're looking at an overview of the four streets that meet at the intersection.”

I try to get my bearings as I stare at the cross section of the map blinking with pods in every direction. And those are only the pods Plutarch knows about. The Holo didn't indicate that the block we just left was mined or had the black geyser. Besides that, there may be Peacekeepers to deal with, now that they know our position. I bite the inside of my lip, feeling everyone's eyes on me. “Put on your masks. We're going out the way we came in.”

Instant objections. I raise my voice over them. “If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed other pods in our path.”

People stop to consider this. Pollux makes a few quick signs to his brother. “It may have disabled the cameras as well,” Castor translates. “Coated the lenses.”

Gale props one of his boots on the counter and examines the splatter of black on the toe. Scrapes it with a kitchen knife from a block on the counter. “It's not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us.”

“Probably our best shot,” Leeg 1 agrees.

As the squad masks up, I sidle up to Finnick. “You don’t have to do this,” I murmur.

“I told you I’d go if the squad was sent on an assassination mission,” he reminds me. He peeks at Jackson before continuing in a whisper, “I know you’re lying about Coin, but Boggs sent you. So he sent all of us.” He resolutely pulls the mask over his face.

“Finnick, think about Annie,” I breathe. I catch him rolling his eyes through the goggles.

“Katniss, think about Johanna,” he retorts, his words slightly garbled.

“I am thinking about Johanna, you dimwit,” I snap. I glance around to see if anyone heard that. Peeta is closest to us and looking on in mild confusion, but that’s hardly abnormal these days. I nudge Finnick and insist, “Look, if the whole block’s been triggered, you can make it back to camp that way.”

He shakes his head. “That goop is probably going to be thicker the closer you get to the geyser. What if I got stuck? And I can’t make it back another way without the Holo. Even if I wanted to retreat, I’m safer with you.” I think falser words have never been spoken. But I’m out of arguments and out of time. The entire squad is looking to me for direction. I squint peevishly at Finnick and tug my mask on.

I push on the kitchen door and meet with no resistance. A half-inch layer of the black goo has spread from the living room about three quarters of the way down the hall. When I gingerly test it with the toe of my boot, I find it has the consistency of a gel. I lift my foot and, after stretching slightly, it springs back into place. I take three steps into the gel and look back. No footprints. It's the first good thing that's happened today. The gel becomes slightly thicker as I cross the living room. I ease open the front door, expecting gallons of the stuff to pour in, but it holds its form.

The pink and orange block seems to have been dipped in glossy black paint and set out to dry. Paving stones, buildings, even the rooftops are coated in the gel. I wait on the sidewalk, staring at the spectacle until the entire group has joined me.

“If anyone needs to go back, for whatever reason, now is the time,” I state, glancing pointedly at Finnick. “No questions asked, no hard feelings.” No one seems inclined to retreat. So I start moving into the Capitol, determined not to waste any more of our precious time. The gel's deeper here, four to six inches, and makes a sucking sound each time you pick up your foot, but it still covers our tracks.

The wave must have been enormous, with tremendous power behind it, as it's affected several blocks that lie ahead. And though I tread with care, I think my instinct was right about it triggering other pods. One block is sprinkled with the golden bodies of tracker jackers. They must have been set free only to succumb to the fumes. A little farther along, an entire apartment building has collapsed and lies in a mound under the gel. I sprint across the intersections, holding up a hand for the others to wait while I look for trouble, but the wave seems to have dismantled the pods far better than any squad of rebels could.

On the fifth block, I can tell that we've reached the point where the wave began to peter out. The gel's only an inch deep, and I can see baby blue rooftops peeking out across the next intersection. The afternoon light has faded, and we badly need to get under cover and form a plan. I choose an apartment two-thirds of the way down the block. Homes jimmies the lock, and I order the others inside. I stay on the street for just a minute, watching the last of our footprints fade away, then close the door behind me.

Flashlights built into our guns illuminate a large living room with mirrored walls that throw our faces back at us at every turn. Gale checks the windows, which show no damage, and removes his mask. "It's all right. You can smell it, but it's not too strong."

The apartment seems to be laid out exactly like the first one we took refuge in. The gel blacks out any natural daylight in the front, but some light still slips through the shutters in the kitchen. Along the hallway are two bedrooms with baths. A spiral staircase in the living room leads up to an open space that composes much of the second floor. There are no windows upstairs, but the lights have been left on, probably by someone hastily evacuating. A huge television screen, blank but glowing softly, occupies one wall. Plush chairs and sofas are strewn around the room. This is where we congregate, slump into upholstery, try to catch our breath.

I sink down beside Peeta, who nods to acknowledge me but immediately weaves his fingers together. He chews on his cheek as he flashes his eyes about the room. They appear troubled, but his pupils are still receded and I can clearly see the baby blues that haunted my dreams for weeks. Months. I’m trying to think of something to say to calm him down when a distant chain of explosions sends a tremor through the room and his head snaps up in alarm. So much for that.

“It wasn't close,” Jackson assures us. “A good four or five blocks away.”

“Where we left Boggs,” says Leeg 1.

Although no one has made a move toward it, the television flares to life, emitting a high-pitched beeping sound, bringing half our party to its feet.

"It's all right!" calls Cressida. "It's just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for it."

There we are on-screen, just after the bomb took out Boggs. A voice-over tells the audience what they are viewing as we try to regroup, react to the black gel erupting from the street, hastily shoot our way out of the minefield and take shelter in the apartment. We handled the situation pretty well, actually, so I don’t understand why the Capitol is airing this until the footage switches to a line of Peacekeepers on the roof across from our former hideout. Shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the chain of explosions we heard, and the building collapses into rubble and dust.

Now we cut to a live feed. A reporter stands on the roof with the Peacekeepers. Behind her, the apartment block burns. Firefighters try to control the blaze with water hoses. We are pronounced dead.

"Finally, a bit of luck," muses Homes.

I guess he's right. Certainly it's better than having the Capitol in pursuit of us. But I just keep imagining how this must be playing out back in 13. Annie hyperventilating and rocking, her hands clamped over her ears. Hazelle steadfastly gripping a wailing Posy, Rory swallowing thickly but refusing to cry, knowing what duties have just fallen to him. Haymitch staring, dumbfounded, while Effie shrieks with despair. My mother melting into a pool of tears beside Prim, who clutches Buttercup numbly, mouth open and dry. Johanna passing out, or maybe throwing some chairs and screaming, as she absorbs and mourns this latest intolerable loss. I wish I could tell her that I’m okay, that I’m alive and suddenly aching to hold her. That my heart’s still beating, and that I’m determined she will hear it again.

We should have gone back. But it’s too late now. The only route without working cameras delivers us straight into enemy hands.

“My father. He just lost my sister and now…” Leeg 1 swallows, deep creases cutting across her brow as she watches the continuing coverage.

“My wife’s in another squad,” Mitchell discloses. “How long do you think before the camp catches wind of this?”

“They would have heard the explosions,” Cressida replies. She’s right. I had no reason to think of that, but surely an explosion where we were filming must be causing speculation and concern. I can see Thirteen not wanting to pass the information on for fear of demoralizing the troops, but there’s no way they could keep this under wraps.

We watch as the Capitol plays the footage over and over. Revel in their victory, especially over me. Break away to do a montage of the Mockingjay's rise to rebel power – I think they've had this part prepared for a while, because it seems pretty polished – and then go live so a couple of reporters can discuss my well-deserved violent end. Later, they promise, Snow will make an official statement. The screen fades back to a glow.

The rebels made no attempt to break in during the broadcast, which leads me to believe they think it's true. If that's so, we really are on our own.

“So, now that we're dead, what's our next move?” asks Gale.

I find my knee bouncing as I drum my fingers on it. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d like to see what Snow has to say before we get moving. Might be better to wait until it’s darker, anyway.” General murmurs of agreement fill the air, so I consider what else we can do in the meantime that would be productive. “Think we might find some food here?”

A few people stay back to watch for Snow’s broadcast, while most of the squad goes downstairs to hunt for something to eat. Messalla’s saying something about how he lived in a near replica of this apartment and knows lots of hiding spots. He’s just leading a small group into one of the bedrooms when I notice Peeta slipping into the other, his hands and lips trembling. I don’t even make a conscious choice to follow him. I don't know if it's the pods, or the fear, or watching Boggs die, but I feel the arena all around me. It's as if I've never left, really. And in the arena, keeping Peeta safe is at the forefront of my mind.

The ensuite door shuts just as I enter the bedroom, and though I know he must be craving privacy, I can’t help my concern. I tread lightly across the carpet and press my ear to the door. “Peeta?” I call softly. There’s no response, so I gently rap the wood with my chapped knuckles. “Peeta, are you okay?” My brow furrows when I hear a sound that’s somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. I turn the handle and ease the door open, revealing Peeta gripping another countertop for dear life.

“Peeta.” I instinctually cup a hand over his closest one, but a sudden twitch in it makes me jump back, forearms raised defensively. I guess some part of me still expects that hand to go for my neck. Peeta chuckles ironically and snuffles, eyeing the sink.

“You’ve learned well.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t be like that,” I huff.

“No, I mean it.” I scoff and make a point of retracing a step toward him, but he shakes his head emphatically. “Stay back,” he insists. “I’m not safe right now.” He swallows, and the tears in his eyes finally spill over. “I never am.”

I don’t retreat, I just lean casually against the doorframe, attempting to mask my fear. “What's going on?”

“Violence like that, watching those things, living them…” He shudders and squeezes the counter again. “It brings it back.” I squint quizzically and he spells out, “It makes me want to kill you.”

That causes an unexpected stab of pain in my gut. I maintain my composure outwardly, anyway, responding with a cool, matter-of-fact, “You don't want to kill me.”

“I don't. The venom does.” He shakes his head sharply. “I know it's gone now, but it doesn't feel like it. Back there, in the street, I almost bashed your head in.” My eyes widen involuntarily. I was so preoccupied with Boggs, I never thought to check on Peeta until he grabbed me, didn’t even consider that the violence and fear would likely throw him into one of his homicidal rages. But if he fought off the impulse and tried to save me instead, then Johanna was right about more than just him being a mutt. The part of him that wants me, that cares about me, it’s still in there.

Peeta’s face only grows more desolate as he observes my reaction. “How am I supposed to live like this?” he laments.

“You fight it,” I say simply.

“I don’t think I can,” he croaks. “I’m not strong like you.”

“Stop that!” I bark. He straightens up a little at the force in my tone, and I lean in authoritatively. “You’re not a weakling, so don’t you dare believe it. You're a warrior too, Peeta. It’s how you've stayed alive this long.”

His eyes are suddenly burning with some intense but indiscernible emotion. Lust, fear, anger? I mentally check off at least one of those when I catch them flitting down to my lips. Shit.

“What if I don’t want to stay alive?” he demands. “I’ve lost everything… I’ve lost myself.”

“You haven’t lost me,” I pledge.

He snorts. “Haven’t I?”

This borderline suicidal moment is not the time to tell him about Johanna. “Hey.” I catch one of his tremulous hands and squeeze it tightly. “I want to help you find yourself. That’s why I’m here.” He reciprocates my grip, almost painfully so. I watch as the anxiety slowly wanes in his features, listen as his breath slows and steadies. “Come on, then,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

We settle on a deep blue sofa upstairs, joining those awaiting the broadcast. Jackson flicks her eyes over warily at our proximity, or maybe it’s curiously, but she doesn’t comment. It’s only now that I think of another very obvious productive thing to do while we wait. I pull out the Holo and insist that she talk me through the most basic commands - which are really about entering the coordinates of the nearest map grid intersection - so that I can at least begin to operate the thing myself. As the Holo projects our surroundings, I feel my heart sink. We must be moving closer to crucial targets, because the number of pods has noticeably increased. How can we possibly move forward into this bouquet of blinking lights without detection? We can't. And if we can't, we are trapped like birds in a net. Mockingjays awaiting slaughter.

I barely have time to start puzzling through possible solutions before we hear the raiding crew ascending the stairs and debating the ethics of hoarding. I honestly can’t bring myself to give two shits, I’m just happy that whatever these people did benefited us. Some may call that mindset insensitive and selfish, I call it pragmatic.

I catch Gale observing Peeta and me while they dump a sizeable collection of canned goods and boxes of cookies before us. He doesn’t appear angry or jealous, so I squint in a silent question. “Everybody grab a can,” is all he says.

Those from Thirteen seem a little put off by this, but I'm really not in the mood to divvy up everything into twelve equal parts, factoring in age, body weight, and physical output. I put the Holo aside and poke around in the pile. I’m about to settle on some cod chowder when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads Lamb Stew.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. “Thanks.” I pop open the top. “It even has dried plums.” I bend the lid and use it as a makeshift spoon, scooping a bit into my mouth. Now this place tastes like the arena, too.

We're passing around a box of fancy cream-filled cookies when the beeping starts again. The seal of Panem lights up on the screen and remains there while the anthem plays. And then they begin to show images of the dead, just as they did with the tributes in the arena. They start with the four faces of our TV crew, followed by Boggs, Gale, Finnick, Peeta, and me. Except for Boggs, they don't bother with the soldiers from 13, either because they have no idea who they are or because they know they won't mean anything to the audience. Then the man himself appears, seated at his desk, a flag draped behind him, the fresh white rose gleaming in his lapel. I think he might have recently had more work done, because his lips are puffier than usual. And his prep team really needs to use a lighter hand with his blush.

Snow congratulates the Peacekeepers on a masterful job, honors them for ridding the country of the menace called the Mockingjay. With my death, he predicts a turning of the tide in the war, since the demoralized rebels have no one left to follow. And what was I, really? A poor, unstable girl with a small talent with a bow and arrow. Not a great thinker, not the mastermind of the rebellion, merely a face plucked from the rabble because I had caught the nation's attention with my antics in the Games. But necessary, so very necessary, because the rebels have no real leader among them.

Somewhere in District 13, Beetee hits a switch, because now it's not President Snow but President Coin who's looking at us. She introduces herself to Panem, identifies herself as the head of the rebellion, and then gives my eulogy. Praise for the girl who survived the Seam and the Hunger Games, then turned a country of slaves into an army of freedom fighters. “Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors.”

“I had no idea how much I meant to her,” I wisecrack. It’s lost on everybody but Gale, who laughs and shares a smirk with me. He may trust Coin more than I do, but he has watched us butt heads from day one.

Up comes a heavily doctored photo of me looking beautiful and fierce with a bunch of flames flickering behind me. No words. No slogan. My face is all they need now.

Beetee gives the reins back to a very controlled Snow. I have the feeling the president thought the emergency channel was impenetrable, and someone will end up dead tonight because it was breached. “Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself.” Seal, anthem, and out.

“Except that you won't find her,” Finnick declares ominously to the empty screen, voicing what we're all probably thinking. The grace period will be brief. Once they dig through those ashes and come up missing twelve bodies, they'll know we escaped.

“We can get a head start on them, at least,” I say. I pull the holograph back up and lay the machine on the coffee table in front of me and Peeta. Just looking at the mess of pods gives me a throbbing headache in my temple where Johanna conked me with the spool of wire, and I’m too exhausted to think clearly anyway. I decide it's best not to adopt some sort of superior attitude when I'm with these people. “Any ideas?”

“Why don't we start by ruling out possibilities,” replies Finnick. “The street is not a possibility.”

“The rooftops are just as bad as the street,” Leeg 1 pitches in.

“We still might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came,” suggests Homes. “But that would mean a failed mission.”

“No way. There’ll be people there all night, checking for hotspots, containing the scene,” Mitchell argues, echoing my thoughts from earlier. “They might even start digging in the dark.”

“So, we can't go back,” Jackson declares. “We can’t stay put. We can't move up. We can't move laterally. I think that just leaves one option.”

“Underground,” Gale spells out.

Underground. Which I hate. Like mines and tunnels and 13. Underground, where I dread dying, which is stupid because even if I die aboveground, the next thing they'll do is bury me underground anyway.

The Holo can show subterranean as well as street-level pods. I see that when we go underground the clean, dependable lines of the street plan are interlaced with a twisting, turning mess of tunnels. The pods look less numerous, though. Messalla proves helpful again here, explaining that two doors down, a vertical tube connects our row of apartments to the tunnels. To reach the tube apartment, we will need to squeeze through a maintenance shaft that runs the length of the building, which we can access through the back of a closet space on the upper floor.

“Okay, then. Let's make it look like we've never been here,” I say. We erase all signs of our stay. Send the empty cans down a trash chute, pocket the full ones for later, flip sofa cushions smeared with blood, wipe traces of gel from the tiles. There's no fixing the latch on the front door, but we lock a second bolt, which will at least keep the door from swinging open on contact.

When Homes pries open the small metal door to the maintenance shaft, we encounter another problem. There's no way the insect shells will be able to fit through the narrow passage. Castor and Pollux remove them and detach emergency backup cameras. Each is the size of a shoe box and probably works about as well. Messalla can't think of anywhere better to hide the bulky shells, so we end up dumping them in the closet. Leaving such an easy trail to follow frustrates me. Not only does this waste our work of covering our tracks, but it basically announces that we took the shaft and therefore that we wanted to access the tunnels. I think this means we’ll have to get aboveground again by morning. Which I’m completely fine with, to be fair.

Even going single file, holding our packs and gear out to the side, it's a tight fit. We sidestep our way past the first apartment, and break into the second. In this apartment, one of the bedrooms has a door marked utility instead of a bathroom. Behind the door is the room with the entrance to the tube.

Messalla frowns at the wide circular cover, for a moment returning to his own fussy world. “It's why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent's considerably cheaper.” Then he notices Finnick's amused expression and adds, “Never mind.”

The tube cover's simple to unlatch. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.

Pollux, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't someone to steady him.

“My brother worked down here after he became an Avox,” says Castor. Of course. Who else would they get to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? “Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn't see the sun once.”

Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say. Instead we all stand there dumbly trying to formulate a response. It’s only a moment before Peeta smirks and nudges Pollux. “Well, then you just became our most valuable asset.”

Castor laughs and Pollux manages a smile. One springs to my lips automatically. That’s the second time in the last few hours that Peeta has sounded like his old self, knew just what to say. Ironic, encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone's expense except maybe his own. His self-deprecating streak sure helped back when we were fighting over the Holo. Over whether to move forward or go back. I gulp and take another look at the projector in my grasp.

“We have a decision to make,” I announce, turning it over in my hands. I glance up at the other soldiers, who are watching me curiously. “I’m not sure if anyone else is having second thoughts after seeing our deaths declared on national television, for all to see.” I make sure to make eye contact with the remaining Leeg, as well as Mitchell and Finnick, and admit, “But I am.”

“You’d violate Coin’s orders?” asks Leeg 1, almost comically aghast. “Abort the mission?”

A pang of guilt hits me since I've fabricated said mission. “It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me.”

“Well, that's a moot point. We're with you now,” says Jackson. “We only have one Holo. And one Pollux. We can’t split up. If you continue into the Capitol, we all do.”

Jackson’s thoughts actually give me a great counterargument. We could let Pollux go with either group and give the Holo to the other. We aren’t far from camp, getting back shouldn’t take too long if anyone is so inclined. But before I have a chance to voice this idea, I remember that, conversely, we’re a ways from evacuated territory. With the Peacekeepers probably hot on our trail by morning, we may need to exit the sewers in an area full of activated pods. And having the Holo during our travels should speed us up and maybe get us to a safe exit point by then. Jackson is right, we have to stick together.

The compounding guilt of dragging everyone to their possible deaths, not to mention that visual of my loved ones’ reactions to my supposed demise, is threatening to overcome my desire to assassinate Snow when Gale speaks up. “The damage is already done.” I look his way, and he holds my gaze meaningfully. “Our lovers and families, they’re already mourning our deaths. The only difference now is whether we get resurrected or not.”

That’s sort of true. Johanna will kill me for dying on her, even if I show up alive. But I still want to return to her, still want her to know I’m okay. I want everyone to know. I guess they will by morning, anyway.

“I know I have no one left who’s not here,” Peeta chimes in, “but I wasn’t sent to the front lines just to retreat.” He looks straight into my eyes and adds, “And what better time is there for you to go after Snow than when he’s not expecting you?” There isn’t one. He’s right. Everyone thinking I’m dead, while horrifying, gives me the perfect opportunity to get close to Snow without detection. My mouth waters at the thought, or maybe it’s just the stench of the sewage. Peeta must see the fire in my eyes, because he cocks an eyebrow and jerks his head toward the heart of the Capitol. Toward Snow. “What do you say?”

What can I say? This is what I’ve laid awake dreaming of for over a year, and yes, this is what I came here to do. Some might even say it is what I was born to do. If Johanna were here, she’d tell me to nut up and get moving. Then again, if Johanna were here, I probably wouldn’t be suffering this same indecision. Johanna. I shake the thoughts of her from my brain one more time and clear my throat. “I say we go kill that bastard.”

Peeta grins affectionately and I start to smile, but then a sinking feeling in my gut pulls my mouth down with it. I gulp and my eyes flit over to Gale, and then Finnick. Both are watching the exchange with concerned faces, but neither makes a move or offers any advice.

“We should get moving,” Cressida interjects, wearing a neutrally thoughtful expression.

I subtly put a bit of distance between Peeta and me as we move out. Gale silently makes his way to my side, and we head after our prey together, like we’ve been doing for years.

“You know he doesn't know about Johanna, right?” he says when he catches me peeking at Peeta over my shoulder.

"It's not a good time," I state. While I don’t really want to encourage any romantic feelings resurfacing in Peeta, any emotional reaction could announce our position and put us in jeopardy.

"It's never going to be a good time," Gale asserts. He returns his eyes to the pipe ahead of us, sweeping the area through his scope. “It's not kind to lead him on.”

I scowl and throw him some side eye. “Subtle, Gale.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he scoffs. 

“Sure,” I grumble. “Go on, speak your mind. I'm a heart-breaking asshole and it's my fault the whole world wants to sleep with me. Far be it for me to be kind to Peeta, like a decent human being. If he thinks it means something more, I guess that's my fault, too.”

He rolls his eyes. “Calm down. I’m just saying you could save yourself the relationship drama with some clarity. Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted when you kissed me. But if you know what you want now-”

“Just shut up, Gale.”

***

It’s not until I’m watching guard over our sleeping crew at six in the morning that I really get a chance to think about what Gale said. The problem is, I don’t really know what I want right now, except to hold Johanna and kill President Snow, not in that order. I don’t even know if I want Peeta to get better. I’d adjusted my view of the world to include him being gone, and his burgeoning recovery is as disorienting as it is encouraging. Maybe having a lover you thought of as dead return from the grave isn’t so great after all. Maybe I should just die down here and save Johanna the emotional whiplash.

She’d slap me if she heard me thinking like this.

I open a can of stew, get out the Holo and manage to input our grid coordinates and scan the tunnels. As expected, more pods are registering the closer we move toward the center of the Capitol. For a while, Pollux and I click around on the Holo, seeing what traps lie where. When my head begins to spin, I hand it over to him and lean back against the wall of the tiny control room we’re all wedged into. I look down at the sleeping soldiers, crew, and friends, and I wonder how many of us will ever see the sun again.

When my eyes fall on Peeta, whose head rests right by my feet, I see he's awake. I wish I could read what's going on in his mind, that I could go in and untangle the mess of lies. Then I settle for something I can accomplish.

"Have you eaten?" I ask. A slight shake of his head indicates he hasn't. I open a can of chicken and rice soup and hand it to him, keeping the lid in case he tries to use it to slit his wrists, or maybe my throat. That conversation we had in the bathroom still has me spooked.

As I watch him chug back the soup, I recall something I wanted to ask him yesterday. Because I don’t want to get tried for treason, I scoot closer to get some privacy. Close enough to feel his body heat. He raises his eyebrows and puts the can aside.

“Peeta?” I mumble.

“Yeah?” he whispers, the familiar warm brush of his breath on my cheek as he leans even closer. I sigh and blink down to my knees. This is almost too much.

“Why did you lie for me earlier? About why you’re here?”

“Who said I was lying?” My eyes jump up at that, and I catch the humor in his quirked eyebrow, despite the serious tone. “It was an easy story. Sending me to a sharpshooter squad just to film propos didn’t make that much sense in the first place.”

I bite my lip and weigh my options for a long moment before choosing to disclose, “I think Coin sent you here hoping you’d kill me.”

Peeta’s features go all muddled like they do before he loses his grip on reality and in turn loses control. That was probably a mistake. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like her, basically.”

He scoffs and flits his eyes out into the sewers. “Bitch.” My eyes spring open, and he snorts half-heartedly. “What? Coin’s supposed to be on our side. It was bad enough, Snow trying to use me to kill you.” Given Peeta’s current distrust of everyone except maybe Delly, my surprise has a lot more to do with his suddenly colorful vocabulary that I’ve been treated to since his arrival. But I don’t tell him that, because it would be hypocritical. Mine is definitely Johanna’s fault, but his seems to stem from a previously untapped bitterness toward the world, me in particular. Or maybe Jo has had more influence on him in their brief visits than I realized.

“True.” I cogitate on that exchange for a minute before musing, “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“You really don’t think I have reason enough to want Snow dead?” He taps his head. “After all this?”

“No, of course you do,” I backtrack. “But I never thought you were one for revenge.”

“I wasn’t.” He hums. “Maybe I’m still not. That’s not why I lied, anyway.” I lift an eyebrow, and he nods toward our sleeping director. “It’s like what Cressida said. If you kill him, you end the war. But you’d end so much more than that. A reign of oppression and terror. You’d give us our freedom.”

“You should have been the Mockingjay,” I mutter, scuffing my heel on the floor. “You come up with this stuff so easily.”

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he responds sincerely. He waits until I catch his eye again before continuing. “Our lives were never ours. They belong to Snow, and our deaths do too. But if you kill him, Katniss, if you end all of this, all those deaths, they mean something.”

A head rush threatens to send me slumping into Peeta as the gravity of my mission crystallizes in a way it hasn’t before. Up until now, I’ve just been intent on carrying out my own petty act of vengeance. Leave it to Peeta, even in his altered state, to be the unselfish one, to see the big picture. I won’t just be killing Snow for myself, or for Peeta. Or Johanna. I’ll be killing him for all the tributes and victors, for all those who have suffered and died under his rule. It’s the ultimate symbolic act, the Mockingjay slaying the demon who has been the scourge of the country for decades on end.

“Like I said, it should have been you,” I repeat. “Coin should have saved you.”

Peeta smiles dryly. “I don’t have the effect that you do.” He finishes the soup and returns the can to me.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There's still time. You should sleep.” He hesitates a second, but then relaxes and lets his head fall against my shoulder. I tense up, briefly conflicted. What I said to Gale earlier, that was Johanna talking. Part of me does feel like I bring my relationship drama upon myself, does think I should be more reserved around Peeta. But I made a decision to stop icing him out, to help him recover. Johanna even encouraged it. No matter what Peeta is to me, or isn’t, I want to comfort and protect him, like he did for me so many times. I owe him that.

I slowly reach around him and begin to graze my hand up and down his spine. He settles into me more comfortably, and I inhale deeply. His hair and skin don’t smell like cinnamon and dill anymore. Now he smells like gunpowder and blood. Like sewage and death. I guess we all do. None of us are coming through this unchanged.

“You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. “Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other.”

***

It's as if Snow's breathing right in my face, telling me it's time to die. The smell of his roses mixed with the blood of the Peacekeepers we shot to bits in the Transfer, with the blood of two of my squad mates. Carried across the sewer by these terrifying, barely mortal reptilian mutts. Cutting through even the foul stench of the sewage. Making my heart run wild, my skin turn to ice, my lungs unable to suck air. I try my best to take down my share of the mutts, keeping them from claiming any more of our lives, but I’m running low on arrows and even lower on sanity. My hands are shaking so badly, I can barely shoot anymore.

The others are shouting at me, but I can't seem to respond. Strong arms lift me as I blast the head off a mutt whose claws have just grazed my ankle. I'm slammed into the ladder. Hands shoved against the rungs. Ordered to climb. My wooden, puppet limbs obey. Movement slowly brings me back to my senses. I detect one person above me. Pollux. Peeta and Cressida are below. We reach a platform. Switch to a second ladder. Rungs slick with sweat and mildew. At the next platform, my head has cleared and the reality of what's happened hits me. I begin frantically pulling people up off the ladder. Peeta. Cressida. Gale. That's it.

What have I done? What have I abandoned the others to? I lunge back into the hole, just ducking Gale’s arms as he tries to intercept me. “Katniss, no!”

I scramble down the ladder and drop to the first landing, arm my bow and search for anyone left to help. At the foot of the ladder, Mitchell and Finnick are trying to fend off three of the monsters. Two are already tearing at Mitchell, and before I even have a chance to aim, one digs its teeth into his neck. It’s too late for him, but Finnick is still stabbing at the third mutt with his trident, desperately dodging its swiping claws. I sink an incendiary arrow into the creature’s eye and it lets out a horrific screech, pulling back in pain for just a moment.

“Finnick!” I scream. “Finnick! Climb!”

He’s already on the ladder, both hands wrapped around the slick metal, his prized trident forgotten below in the escape attempt. I flatten out on the platform and extend my hand down to him as he scales the rungs. He’s about halfway to me in a few short seconds, and I expel a breath. But then I see the mutt, even more enraged than before, poised to jump. With the same power that propelled it over the Meat Grinder.

“Hold on!” I shout just as the beast launches itself at him. He clutches the ladder and the mutt grabs his ankle in its claws. Finnick cries out and I nock an explosive arrow, trying to get a sure shot at the mutt, but my friend is in the way. I watch helplessly as Finnick shakes his leg, tries to kick the thing loose. He releases the ladder with one hand, scrambling for his gun, but then a second mutt leaps up and digs into his other leg. I blow its head right off, but not before it takes a huge chunk out of his calf. Finnick screams and tips his head up to me.

“Katniss!” he pleads, just before his grip slips on the ladder and he and the first mutt fall to the tile below. Joining the blood already streaming from his leg, the mutts waiting below. Suddenly, I’m peeking over the lip of the Cornucopia at my mutilated enemy. Flattened on a rooftop in the Block with a single shot.

I whip one regular arrow from my quiver, lock on my ally’s begging eyes, take aim. As I release it, something bizarre happens. It's as if I'm Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, Johanna smirking devilishly, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it's over.

I slide the Holo from my belt and choke out, “Nightlock, nightlock, nightlock.” Drop it into the sewer. Hunch against the wall as the explosion rocks the platform, cracking it and crumbling the edges. I white-knuckle the ladder as bits of mutt and human flesh that shot up the pipe rain down on me.

“Katniss?” a female voice calls from above me. Cressida. Pollux, Peeta, Gale. Me. We’re all that’s left. Numbly, I pull myself to standing and ascend the ladder. My limbs are shaky from the trauma and the explosion, slowing my climb, but Gale’s outstretched hand awaits me at the top. It does me a lot more good than mine did Finnick.

“You idiot,” he growls, but I can hear the relief in his voice. He pulls me out of the tube and into his arms. He’s covered in gore, too.

“I had to try,” I whisper into his collarbone as Pollux slams a cover over the pipe and locks it in place. I had to. I promised. I pull away before I can break down into a heap of useless feelings. Right now, I have to stay functional, have to keep the remnants of our band alive. “We can't stop here.” I look around and evaluate the situation. None of us appear seriously injured, but one body is huddled against the wall.

“Peeta,” I say. There's no response. Has he blacked out? I crouch in front of him, pulling his hands from his face. “Peeta?” His eyes are like black pools, pupils dilated like they were in the street. The muscles in his wrists are hard as metal. “Peeta, come on, we have to go!” I urge him.

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can't hang on.”

“Yes. You can!” I tell him.

Peeta shakes his head. “I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them.”

Like the mutts. Like the rabid beasts I just saw tearing Finnick to pieces, while we were all safe up above. Suddenly, anger joins the mess of emotions dammed up inside of me, and I burst.

My eyes narrow into flaming slits. “Peeta, get up!” I bark.

“I can’t do it, Katniss,” he whispers lamely at his hands. “I don’t want to…”

I slap him so hard, I could swear my palm lights on fire. I fist his shirt with both hands and scream in his face, “Finnick is dead, and you are alive! You could be the one down there, in pieces! He died for you, Peeta, for us. They all did. So suck it up!”

“Katniss!” Cressida protests from behind me in that same exasperated, disappointed tone I remember from when I refused to do that damn propo in the crater of roses. I couldn’t care less. They can all think I’m a monster. I am. But Peeta isn’t, and I won’t let him die thinking he is. He’s still slumped against the wall, pupils blown, utterly broken. My motivational speech seems to have done him no good.

“Just kill me,” he breathes, so lowly it sounds more like a prayer than a request. But I’m too stubborn to grant his wish. He deserves a chance to live, truly live, and I can’t let Snow win. Snow has won too much already today. My mind slips to another tactic, one I’ve employed successfully before on a victim of Snow’s torture. It’s a long shot, maybe even suicide, given he’s programmed to kill me. But I tilt up Peeta’s chin with that same hand that slapped him, and kiss him full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but his lips move the tiniest bit just before I have to come up for air. So I stay, and kiss him once more. I'm not sure what I was expecting to feel, but I'm unprepared for the utter lack of feelings I encounter. All I feel is a sense of disenchantment. This is not my Peeta. Not anymore.

Tears are rolling down my cheeks as I pull back. It’s me that’s changed, not just him. But even if I don’t - or can’t - love him that way now, I still can’t bear to lose him. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don't let him take you from me.”

Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I… Katniss…”

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

I help Peeta up and address Pollux. “How far to the street?” He indicates it's just above us. I climb the last ladder and push open the lid to someone's utility room. I'm rising to my feet when a woman throws open the door. She wears a bright turquoise silk robe embroidered with exotic birds. Her magenta hair's fluffed up like a cloud and decorated with gilded butterflies. Grease from the half-eaten sausage she's holding smears her lipstick. The expression on her face says she recognizes me. She opens her mouth to call for help.

Without hesitation, I shoot her through the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for reigning me in when needed, for her guidance and patience and beta-reading.


	18. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from the total lack of response to the last chapter, I assume everyone hated it. Which is fair enough, but I hope that's because it was all Everlark and not because I recycled/altered so much content. There's quite a bit of recycled/altered content in this one too, but also more summing up and skipping of existing passages, and plenty of original content. So, hopefully it's more interesting than the last one.
> 
> I was kind of hoping to have this chapter up for the 19th, as that was the one-year anniversary of chapter 1's publication and because it started the 1-month countdown to MJ2. But I had computer troubles and a crucial national election to watch (and MLB playoffs, because Canada), so here it is a few days late. This will probably be the last one published before the movie releases, as I have career-related stuff to focus on and I expect to be switching my attention back to Loyalty for a bit. So until then, may the odds be ever in our favor (for some subtextual Joniss).

“She’s going to kill me.”

Gale hardly reacts to this statement, just keeps peering through the blinds of the slain woman’s apartment. Watching for the trouble he already predicted could arrive at any moment. “I thought we’d already established that.”

“Not Coin,” I clarify. “Johanna.” That turns his head.

“Finnick made his own choice,” he says plainly, though I spy a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

I shake my head. “I made the choice for everyone. They would have followed me either way.”

“They followed you because they believed in you,” he maintains.

“They were foolish.”

“Don’t talk like that.” We both startle and turn our faces to Cressida, who has snuck up behind us. She regards me sternly. “If you give up now, their deaths are in vain. Make them worth something.” Despite her determined stance and speech, she’s so pale her lips are bloodless.

I break our shared gaze to survey the rest of our decimated crew. Peeta's sitting on a velvet sofa with his teeth clamped down on a pillow, either fighting off madness or containing a scream. Pollux weeps against the mantel of an ornate fireplace. I’m running on hate and encumbered with guilt, and I’m not the least functional among us, not by a long shot. This is no time for a stealth attack on Snow. But we do need to get out of here.

“Cressida, do you know where we are?” I ask, stepping aside for her.

She peeks through one of the thin strips and nods. “We’re not too far from the mansion.” Finally, a scrap of good news.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s check her closets.”

It’s a whirlwind of frenetic activity over the next several minutes as we disguise ourselves with wigs, scarves, silly shoes, thick layers of makeup. The biting cold of the early morning gives us an excuse to wear long, flowing cloaks that cover our weapons and boots, which we hang around our necks by their laces. I insist on taking an extra moment to stuff our pockets with food supplies, then rush everybody out the door before the Peacekeepers break it down.

We spot our first platoon not a minute later, rushing toward the block we just vacated. We hop out of their way, as the real citizens do, wait until the crowd returns to its normal flow, and keep moving. “Cressida,” I whisper. “Can you think of anywhere?”

“I'm trying,” she says.

We cover another block, and the sirens begin. Through an apartment window, I see an emergency report and pictures of our faces flashing. They haven't identified who in our party died yet, because I see Castor and Finnick among the photos. Soon every passerby will be as dangerous as a Peacekeeper. “Cress?”

“There's one place. It's not ideal. But we can try it.” We follow her a few more blocks and turn through a gate into what looks like a private residence. It's some kind of shortcut, though, because after walking through a manicured garden, we come out of another gate onto a small back street that connects two main avenues. There are a few poky stores - one that buys used goods, another that sells fake jewelry. Only a couple of people are around, and they pay no attention to us. Cressida begins to babble in a high-pitched voice about fur undergarments, how essential they are during the cold months. “Wait until you see the prices! Believe me, it's half what you pay on the avenues!”

Were the situation less dire, or were I less emotionally drained, I might laugh.

***

“Katniss!” The shrill greeting rings in my ears and makes me cringe. Not again. “Katniss, I’ve been looking all over for you. Just where have you been?” Anywhere you’re not, is what I think. Instead I say nothing as Effie teeters toward me in a pair of ridiculously high heels. “You could at least try to be more cooperative,” she chides me. “As your escort, I’m responsible for your staying on schedule.”

“What schedule, Effie?” I scoff. “How long have we been trying to get to Twelve?”

“I’m here to help you,” she insists. “Maybe we’d be there by now if you wouldn’t keep disappearing on me.”

“Maybe we’d be there by now if we hadn’t missed that hovercraft out of Two,” I snap. I nod at her new shoes. “How long until you break another one of those?”

Effie takes a large breath, as though she’s trying to compose herself, before proclaiming, “Stilettos aren’t designed for mountain ranges, darling Mockingjay.” I can’t help but think that that sounded a bit too much like when Haymitch sarcastically calls me sweetheart. She pastes on a saccharine smile. “They belong in the streets of the Capitol.”

“So do you,” I tell her. And then I stalk away, easily outpacing her in my sensible shoes. It’s far from the first time, this journey.

Fat drops of rain start spattering the paving stones in front of me, so I search the street for a place to take shelter, eventually selecting some kind of gaming house with laughter and light streaming out of the windows. I gently push through the heavy wooden door, revealing a smelly tavern full of people, mostly loud, robust men with beards. They crowd around small tables, coins and cards strewn across the playing surfaces. I slink along the wall, observing the clamor but keeping some space from it. I slide onto an empty barstool and rest my elbows on the counter, my head in my hands.

“That bad, huh?” comes a deep, gravelly voice. I glance up into the caramel eyes of a stocky bartender, who studies me with sympathy.

I sigh and nod. “It’s been a long… however long it’s been.”

He raises an eyebrow and flicks his bar towel over his shoulder. “Road-weary traveler?”

“I’m trying to get home to District Twelve, but my escort fucked up and forgot to get some official stamp or something, so we got kicked off our train,” I vent. “With my luck, I’ll be stranded here for weeks.”

“Then you might as well make the best of it,” he smiles warmly. “We’re great at killing time, here. Care for a round of rummy?” He leans in a little and winks. “Or maybe just a round of rum?”

“The rum sounds good.” I’m sure it will be disgusting, actually, but I can remember many pleasant hours sprawled out on my back, floating on a morphling-fueled cloud. Maybe I can find some similar relief here. I search my pockets and come up with a few coins. “Is this enough?”

He examines the meager collection in my hand and looks on me with pity. “If that’s all you have, it’s on the house.” I should protest. I know I have heaps of money waiting at my house in Twelve, if I ever make it back. It’s been so long since I’ve been home. So long since I’ve moseyed through the market, traded in the Hob, sat beside Madge and listened to her manipulate her piano keys so skillfully. If only I could get there.

The bartender hands me a mug half full of some putrid substance and watches amusedly as I swallow a glug with a sour face. Then he abruptly asks, “Why are you here, Twelve?”

The term of address rattles me. Hardly anyone has ever called me that. I shake it off and repeat, “I got thrown off my train. I’m just passing through.”

“People don’t pass through District Seven,” he tells me. Oh, of fucking course, that’s where I am. The rain, the cards, the burly men speckled with sawdust. Brainless. “There are more direct routes to Twelve,” he adds, leaning closer again. “You’re here for a reason.” Yes, I am. Since we got kicked off the train, I’ve had this uneasy, unsatisfied feeling, like I’m forgetting something. Like I need something here. Now I know why.

I’m outside again, though I don’t remember leaving. I squint through the heavy rain and quickly realize I’m in the square where I once gave an uninspired speech, where I twice watched Johanna Mason get reaped. The Justice Building is not the marble wonder of District Two, but still rustically beautiful, a red brick construction with low-peaked roofs and wooden accents. Mahogany, I think, but I’m no expert on wood, or carpentry.

I scope out a tall tree nearby and start clambering up the slippery branches. I stop about thirty feet up and squint into the gloom, but can't locate anything resembling a Victor’s Village.

“Katniss! There you are!” I sigh resignedly and peer down at Effie stamping through the mud in her heels and tailored suit. “Just what do you think you’re doing up there?”

“Looking for Johanna,” I explain.

She waves me down. “Come, now. We have a train to catch.”

“No, I need to find her,” I argue.

“Well, she certainly won’t be out and about in this weather,” Effie points out. As if on cue, lightning flashes overhead. She’s not wrong. I probably shouldn’t be in a tree during a lightning storm, either. I shimmy down. “Let’s take shelter at the station and worry about that later, shall we?” she suggests when I hit the ground.

I don’t want to abandon my quest, but I can’t think of a better plan at the moment, so I begrudgingly let her guide me out of the square. The train station is open and we are able to dig through our baggage for dry clothes, but I never feel warm or dry for as long as we’re there. It must be days. The train never comes.

“Does it ever stop raining here?” I grouse, curled up under a heavy sweater on a hard wooden bench, my head on Effie’s lap.

“It didn’t rain on your Tour,” she reminds me, running her fingers through my hair. I don’t mind. I don’t dislike Effie’s company, just her nagging.

“I’m going after Johanna today,” I announce. “Rain or shine.”

“What for?” presses Effie.

“I want to bring her home with me.” My escort says nothing, but her hand stills. My eyes narrow and I turn onto my back, look up into Effie’s rueful eyes. “What, Effie?”

She sighs and brushes a piece of hair from my face. “Oh, dear girl. Johanna doesn't want to be found.”

My stomach jolts and my head spins. I swallow hard and force my blurred vision back to Effie. “Why not?”

“You know why,” she whispers. I do. I blink away. I can’t stomach the thought of returning home alone. No, that’s not even possible. No place will feel like home without Jo, not even Twelve. Not the woods I grew up in, not the house I won. Everything is different since the Quarter Quell…

A chill settles over me, and I slowly drag my eyes back to Effie.

“Twelve’s not there anymore, is it?” I whisper. “My home is ashes. That’s why we haven’t made it there. You did this on purpose.”

“Oh, no,” she assures me delicately. “Twelve is there.” She lays a hand above my heart. “Twelve is wherever you want it to be.”

My heavy eyelids slowly rise, and my hand automatically lifts to shield my bleary eyes from a bright light above me. The sun? No, the air is dank, stale. My bones ache with chill and fatigue, but I force myself into a semi-sitting position and prop myself up on my elbows, blink my eyes into focus. There’s a stone stairway to my right, and three bodies are cocooned in fur nests beyond me. Right, we’re in the basement of the fur shop. What’s left of us, anyway. Cressida was right about it not being ideal. We’re penned in down here, at the mercy of a former Hunger Games stylist who's been surgically modified to resemble a tiger. I can’t help but feel like prey.

I focus on my companions and identify Pollux’s ponytail a few feet away. Past the foot of the stairs lie Gale and Peeta. After his near meltdown in the sewer, Peeta insisted Gale sleep between the two of us in case he goes mutt and tries to hurt me. That took very little convincing. For multiple reasons, I’m sure. I turn on my side and my eyes land on Cressida, whose eyes are open and focused on the ceiling. “Hey,” I whisper. She glances my way. “What time is it?”

She checks her watch and murmurs, “Quarter to five.”

That would explain my growling belly. I down a can of beef stew and then step over Pollux and tiptoe past the other two men to access the faucet and drain at the other end of the narrow strip of a cellar. I turn the tap and, after much sputtering and a lot of rust, clear water begins to flow. I drink up eagerly. We made sure to keep a stash of food as we infiltrated enemy territory, but water was in short supply. So was sleep, and the other three are still dead to the world when I sneak back to my bed of pelts.

I lean back against the cellar wall, retracing the events of the last day. Moving death by death. Counting them up on my fingers. One - Boggs lost on the block. Two - Messalla melted by the pod. Three, four - Leeg 1 and Jackson sacrificing themselves at the Meat Grinder. Five, six, seven - Castor, Homes, and Mitchell being decapitated by the rose-scented lizard mutts. Eight - my arrow in Finnick’s eye. Eight dead in twenty-four hours. I know it happened, and yet it doesn't seem real. Surely, Castor is asleep under that pile of furs, Finnick will come bounding down the steps in a minute, Boggs will tell me his plan for our escape.

To believe them dead is to accept that I killed them. Okay, maybe not Boggs - he died on an actual assignment. But the others lost their lives defending me on a mission I fabricated. My plot to assassinate Snow seems so stupid now. So stupid as I sit shivering here in this cellar, tallying up our losses, fingering the tassels on the silver knee-high boots I stole from the woman's home. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I killed her, too. I'm taking out unarmed citizens now.

“Hey.” Cressida shuffles over and sits beside me. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” I mumble. I stare blankly at the tassels. “But at least I’m alive.” Better than most of us, anyway.

“Always something to be grateful for,” she pronounces.

“You think?” I catch her eye and admit, “I’m not always sure.”

Cressida narrows her eyes. “Isn’t that the attitude you slapped Peeta over back in the sewers?” She mercifully leaves out the kissing part.

“I guess. Though that was more because he was slowing us down.” My eyes wander to the mop of blond hair I can just see peeking out beyond Gale’s huddled form. “Haven’t you ever thought about offing yourself? You know, just thought it would be easier?”

“You never struck me as the giving up type, Everdeen,” she remarks.

“I’m not,” I retort. “Things just got complicated after my Games. The only choices I had were to stay alive and fake the rest of my life, or go out on my own terms.”

“You need freedom,” she muses. “You’re the Mockingjay.”

“Freedom to choose, yes. Control over my own life,” I stress. “The whole thing was so… suffocating.” I chew on my cheek, mulling it over. “Even Peeta was suffocating sometimes,” I admit. “I didn’t want to be loved, not like that. It always felt like he had this skewed view of me.” I snort. “It took the hijacking for him to see me objectively.”

“Being programmed to kill you hardly seems objective.” She lets that sink in, then adds, “But even now, he still cares about you. He tried to save you. He kissed you back.” The dread chilling my bones must register on my face, because she observes, “You think that was a mistake.”

I immediately shake my head. “No. It might have saved his life.” I drum my fingers on my knee. “But it complicated things. He already expects too much.” I flick my eyes back to the opposite end of the cellar. “They both do.”

Cressida is silent a beat, and there’s confusion in her voice when she speaks up. “But Gale knows.”

My eyes flash her way. “Wait, you know?”

She cocks her eyebrow and levels that lopsided smirk at me. “I guessed.” I huff and glare out into the cellar, and she nudges me playfully. “What do you care?”

“I spent so many years trying to perfect my blank face,” I grumble. “But I’m still an open book.” I suddenly feel dizzy again, and can’t help but gulp. “Everyone seems to know my secrets before I know them myself.” I catch Cressida watching me curiously, and shrug. “I said that to Finnick, when I first met him.”

She hesitates a moment but still inquires, “Was it hard to shoot him?”

“No,” I admit wryly. “Sadly, I’m used to mercy kills at this point.” I let that hang there, fiddling with the jazzy boots again.

“Johanna will understand,” she assures me, prompting some incredulous side eye.

“I shot her best friend, Cress.”

“And if she were a true best friend, she would have done the same,” Cressida argues. “I don’t know her very well, but she seems much less swayed by sentimentality than you are. She’s logical, practical, able to make unpleasant choices for the greater good. She knocked you out and cut that tracker out of your arm, even though it caused you pain and terror, because that was what it took to save you.”

“But it wasn’t her,” I insist. “It was me. She specifically ordered me to keep him safe, keep him out of trouble. Instead, I killed him.” I shake my head desolately. “And Finnick, he was the only person who meant anything to her, for years. He was the only one left. It’s like what she said in the Quell. She’s lost everyone she loves.”

Cressida lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Not you.”

I don’t know if it’s the loneliness, the chill, or the familiar security of an older woman who will take no shit from me, but something makes me slump to the side and let my head fall on her shoulder. Her arm encircles me and draws me in tighter, and once I’ve settled in, her fingers start meandering over my upper arm.

“She knows you’re alive now,” Cressida murmurs. “Isn’t that reason enough to keep going?”

I suppose it is, if she means staying alive. If she means continuing with the mission, I’d think it would make more sense to cut our losses and save Johanna - not to mention my family - another heart attack. Hide down here until the Capitol falls, whenever that happens.

This uncertainty and my continued guilt is what prompts me to confess once everyone’s awake. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There's a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.”

“You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn't,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn't. But she trusted Boggs, and he'd clearly wanted you to go on.” That gives me pause. Finnick said the same thing in the first apartment we took shelter in. He knew it was Boggs who had given the order, and that was enough for him to want in on the mission.

“And Gale was right,” she adds, casting my best friend a pensive gaze. “They followed you because they believed in you. We all did.” She nods assuredly. “We still do.”

I can’t help but think of the moment I first met her. When she said the crew fled the Capitol for the rebellion. For me. Even then, the sentiment was overwhelming and felt undeserved. Let alone now, with all these deaths on my shoulders. But maybe Peeta was right all along. Maybe I really do have no idea, the effect I can have. I catch his steadfast gaze, and he nods in agreement. So does Pollux.

If Cressida is right, and I think she is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

***

The clumsy footfall of a prosthetic leg is what jerks me into wakefulness in the middle of the night. My eyes snap open, and I lie frozen in fear until I hear another and recognize the sound. It’s followed by a muttered curse, and then a bunch of rustling at the far end of the cellar.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers, just before he glugs some water. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” Gale mumbles. “I wake up ten times a night anyway.”

“To make sure Katniss is still here?” asks Peeta.

“Something like that,” Gale admits.

So, they are aware that I’m still considering the prospect of using myself as bait. It was among the many possibilities voiced this afternoon and evening while trying to come up with some sort of plan to take out Snow. My idea was to turn myself in and hope Snow would appear publicly for my execution in the City Circle, but the others argued that there were too many other scenarios that could play out upon my capture, and that it should be a last resort only. I consented to avoid further argument. If I do decide to give myself up, it won't require anyone else's permission or participation. Unless Gale is guarding the foot of the stairs, of course.

“That was funny, what Tigris said,” Peeta says after a long pause. “About no one knowing what to do with her.”

“Well, we never have,” Gale deadpans.

They both laugh. It's so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they're not. Never have been. Although they're not exactly enemies.

“She loves you, you know,” Peeta ruminates wistfully. “She as good as told me after they whipped you.”

My body goes stiff again. Gale already lectured me over keeping Peeta in the dark about Johanna. What if he decides now is the perfect time to spill my secret for me? Gale generally respects my wishes, but he follows his own moral code. And he doesn’t listen to me the same way Peeta does.

“Katniss loves me,” Gale echoes haltingly. “But it might not be in the way that you think.” I grit my teeth. The only thing keeping me from intervening, other than the embarrassment of admitting I was eavesdropping, is the fear of causing a scene and raising even more questions.

“I feel you there,” Peeta grunts. “She kissed me countless times, but so few of them had any feeling behind them, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Gale agrees wholeheartedly.

“Maybe neither of us have what it takes to earn her love.”

I brace myself for some cutting remark referring to bodily anatomy. But what Gale says is, “Maybe love isn’t something you earn.” He pauses a beat. “If it was, it would be you.”

“No,” Peeta disagrees. “You’ve taken care of her family when she couldn’t. They matter more to her than her life.”

I hear Gale shifting around in his nest again with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” he replies cautiously. “Katniss isn’t going to choose her lover based on who’s most useful to her. I used to think she would, but not anymore.”

“Okay,” a perplexed Peeta responds. “Then how do you think she’ll choose?”

Gale takes a long moment to think before stating, “Katniss will choose the person she can’t live without. The person it would break her heart to lose.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “She’d survive if I was gone. You too, probably.” Peeta doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. An ache grows in my chest, which now feels heavy and weak. Gale yawns. “We should get some sleep.”

I have to exercise considerable effort to keep my breathing quiet once the boys have settled and the rustling has died down. It’s like this latest round of guilt has knocked the wind out of me. Gale’s last statement was a bleak one, yet I know I can’t argue with it. There’s only one person I can’t survive without, one person whose absence causes an ache even worse than morphling withdrawal. These two boys have helped me stay alive physically, but Johanna is my lifeblood. I never realized how much of my strength came from her until she was reduced to a clammy mass of flesh trembling in a hospital bed, devoid of any strength herself.

My chest clenches at the thought of her alone in Thirteen, no clue if I’m still alive or not, and I have to fight off a dry sob to keep the boys unaware of my lucidity. Sure, she knows my death announcement was a false alarm, but I could easily be injured or dead again by any number of means. She already knows Finnick is dead, assuming she saw the broadcast we did over dinner, and that is bad enough. She’s probably mourning his loss with Annie, comforting the older girl even though Jo is ultimately the one who needs reassurance at this time. As I know from the time preceding the rescue mission, knowing a loved one is dead is so much easier than having to wonder at their fate.

I miss her so much, I can’t even describe it. I feel cold and empty, devoid of life somehow, as I lie here, alone. The next time I see her, I’m going to take her face in my hands and kiss her and not let go until someone has to drag me away, no matter who’s around to see it. I don’t care what people think. And Peeta, he will survive. So will Gale. I just need to be with her.

I run the imagined kiss through my head on repeat, and it’s all that gets me through the night.

In the morning, there are more pressing matters to occupy my mind. We gather around Tigris’s television for one of Beetee’s break-ins and learn that the rebel offensive has been expedited greatly by a new tactic of sending unmanned cars through the streets, triggering a good chunk of the pods. Though the Capitol adjusts by changing to manual activation of the pods, killing more rebels and slowing the rest down, much ground has already been gained. So much for the Capitol taking a few weeks to fall.

Beetee gives the broadcast back to the Capitol, where a grim-faced reporter announces the blocks that civilians are to evacuate. Between her update and the previous story, I am able to mark my paper map to show the relative positions of the opposing armies.

I hear scuffling out on the street, move to the windows, and peek out a crack in the shutters. In the early morning light, I see a bizarre spectacle. Refugees from the now occupied blocks are streaming toward the Capitol’s center. The most panicked are wearing nothing but nightgowns and slippers, while the more prepared are heavily bundled in layers of clothes. They carry everything from lapdogs to jewelry boxes to potted plants. One man in a fluffy robe holds only an overripe banana. Confused, sleepy children stumble along after their parents, most either too stunned or too baffled to cry. Bits of them flash by my line of vision. A pair of wide brown eyes that strike me as eerily similar to Jo’s. An arm clutching a favorite doll. A pair of bare feet, bluish in the cold, catching on the uneven paving stones of the alley. Seeing them reminds me of the children of Twelve who died fleeing the firebombs. I leave the window.

Tigris offers to be our spy for the day since she's the only one of us without a bounty on her head. After securing us downstairs, she goes out into the Capitol to pick up any helpful information. She still hasn’t returned by late afternoon, only adding to the general unease that my anxious pacing has caused. Something tells me that not taking advantage of the flood of refugees is a mistake. What better cover could we have? On the other hand, every displaced person milling about on the streets means another pair of eyes looking for the five rebels on the loose. And even if this is our best chance to get closer to Snow, we still lack any plan once we’re out there, other than me surrendering myself. Then again, anyone in the country could tell you I’m quick to abandon plans, anyway.

Tigris returns around six, much to our relief, and soon opens the panel obscuring the stairwell to the cellar. The wonderful smell of frying meat fills the air. Tigris has prepared us a hash of chopped ham and potatoes. It's the first hot food we've had in days, and as I wait for her to fill my plate, I'm in danger of actually drooling.

As I chew, I try to pay attention to Tigris telling us how she acquired it, but the main thing I absorb is that fur underwear is a valuable trading item at the moment. Especially for people who left their homes underdressed. Many are still out on the street, trying to find shelter for the night. We watch a Capitol broadcast calling on the residents of the inner city to be not only willing but enthusiastic hosts in this time of crisis, which Tigris tells us has not been the case so far. It is announced that President Snow is setting an example by ordering part of his mansion readied to receive citizens tomorrow, and that shopkeepers should also be prepared to lend their floor space if requested. Between those two pieces of news, and a segment denouncing the murder of a supposed Peeta lookalike at the hands of an angry mob, my stomach is left roiling.

We watch a brief rebel update in which we learn that several more blocks have been taken today. The closest rebel front is a mere four blocks away. Somehow that fills me with more anxiety than the idea of Peacekeepers looking for housing. I become very helpful. “Let me wash the dishes.”

“I'll give you a hand.” Gale collects the plates.

I feel Peeta's eyes follow us out of the room. In the cramped kitchen at the back of Tigris’s shop, I fill the sink with hot water and suds. “Do you think it’s true?” I ask. “That Snow will let refugees into the mansion?”

“I think he has to now, at least for the cameras.”

“I’m leaving in the morning,” I announce.

“I’m going with you,” Gale states. “What should we do with the others?”

“Pollux and Cressida could be useful. They’re good guides,” I muse. Pollux and Cressida aren’t actually the problem. “But Peeta…”

“Same,” Gale interjects. I squint bewilderedly. “Remember what he said, back when we were fighting over the Holo? He spent a lot of time inside that mansion. We don’t need him to get there, but he could be useful once we’re inside.”

“Yeah, but…” I sigh and scratch my cheek. “He’s kind of unstable, Gale. That breakdown in the sewer wasn’t the only one. He was really upset after seeing the footage of what happened in the street, and he told me he almost killed me then.”

“But he didn’t,” Gale reminds me. “He was freaking out, but he was trying to help.”

“He could still have another breakdown, if there’s any violence while we’re out there. And even if that wasn’t an issue, I don’t think I can go out with him. People will be expecting to see us together.”

“So get him to trail behind us,” Gale reasons. “That takes care of both problems. If he loses it then, it might even help us. Diversion tactics.” Leaving him to get beaten to death by a swarm of vigilantes while we run away, he means. I’m debating the ethics and wisdom of this gamble when he adds, “Then once we’re inside, we can meet up with him again.”

I chuckle ironically. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d be encouraging me to spend time with Peeta.”

“You’ve told me that before,” he retorts. It takes me a moment to remember the incident, that spat we had after Johanna’s flashback. When it visibly dawns on me, he states matter-of-factly, “Our fight is over. We both lost.” He shrugs. “No need to be bitter.”

I bite my lip and return my attention to the sink. I don’t think Gale is trying to guilt me, but it doesn’t take much. Me apologies are useless, so I say, “Thank you.” He blinks in confusion, and I specify, “For not telling him. He woke me up, too.”

“Oh.” I think Gale might be blushing a little bit. He probably thinks I’m upset about some of the comments he made. But I’m not, not really, so I move a hand to his jaw and push up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“And thank you, for getting it,” I tell him sincerely.

Gale just twitches the corner of his mouth and goes back to drying the dishes. It takes me a moment to precisely identify my error. He doesn’t have to tell me he knew I’d do that. I still have this tendency to throw affection at any pain I feel incapable of healing otherwise. But it’s selfish. The only person it makes feel any better is me. I need to just leave him alone. So I do.

Back on the shop floor, the others are still gathered around the television. I round Tigris’s counter and lay my palms flat on it, garnering their attention.

“Peeta,” I begin, “did you mean what you said about being able to be a guide in the mansion?”

“Yeah.” He nods confidently. “I may have exaggerated how much time I spent there, but I sort of know my way around.”

“Good. All I know is what I saw at the two banquets, which wasn’t much.” Movement beyond them distracts me, and I see Gale quietly entering the room. He avoids my gaze. “I think we have a plan,” I declare. “We want to take advantage of the refugee situation by getting our remaining sharpshooters into the mansion when President Snow takes in houseguests.”

“You and Gale,” Cressida says.

“Yes. But we need your help, too. All of you.”

Gale rounds the group and stands by my side. “We need you two to lead us safely to the mansion. We can’t be looking at the map while we’re out there, it’ll give us away.” He turns to Peeta. “And if you can get into the mansion too, you can guide us from there.”

Peeta hesitates a moment. “I’m not sure it’s safe for me to be traveling with you two,” he admits. “I want to help, but I might put you in danger.”

“That’s true,” I agree. “And you and me together is a bad idea. So you can either go ahead of us with Cress and Pol, or lag behind us at a safe distance.”

“I have to go alone,” he asserts. “I don’t want to endanger any more lives.”

Gale nods, as this had been his preference all along, but I’m less than thrilled by the idea. “What if you’re captured?”

“I wouldn’t mind some form of protection,” Peeta admits, scanning the group. But all we have left is two bows and two guns. Honestly, I’m still not comfortable with the idea of Peeta holding a loaded gun somewhere behind me, but I can’t really deny him the ability to defend himself.

Pollux is just moving to hand over his rifle when Gale shakes his head slightly. He must have the same reservations I do. Instead, he reaches into his breast pocket and places his nightlock tablet in Peeta's hand. Peeta lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. “What about you?”

“Don't worry. Beetee showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. If that fails, I've got my knife. And I'll have Katniss,” Gale smiles. “She won't give them the satisfaction of taking me alive.” Like how I refused to let Finnick die at the enemy’s hands. I guess I’ve proved my stones, in that regard.

“Take it, Peeta,” I say in a strained voice. I reach out and close his fingers over the pill. “No one will be there to help you.”

We spend a fitful night, woken by one another’s nightmares, minds buzzing with the next day’s plans. I’m relieved when five o’clock rolls around and we can begin whatever this day holds for us. We eat a mishmash of our remaining food - canned peaches, crackers, and snails - leaving one can of salmon for Tigris as meager thanks for all she’s done. The gesture seems to touch her in some way. Her face contorts in an odd expression and she flies into action. She spends the next hour remaking the five of us. She redresses us so regular clothes hide our uniforms before we even don our coats and cloaks. Covers our military boots with some sort of furry slippers. Secures our wigs with pins. Cleans off the garish remains of the paint we so hastily applied to our faces and makes us up again. Drapes our outerwear to conceal our weapons. Then gives us handbags and bundles of knickknacks to carry. In the end, we look exactly like the refugees fleeing the rebels.

“Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist,” Peeta compliments her. It’s hard to tell, but I think Tigris might actually blush under her stripes.

There are no helpful updates on the television, but the alley seems as thick with refugees as the previous morning. Tigris watches through the shutters for the right moment, unbolts the door, and nods to Cressida and Pollux. “Take care,” Cressida says, and they are gone.

We’ll be following in a minute. I share a glance with each of the remaining soldiers. Gale’s face is alert and poised for battle, and he gives me a reassuring nod. Peeta’s pupils are a bit dilated, but he appears focused and in control, at least for now. I still can’t help but worry. This reminds me too much of the last time I walked away from him to carry out a plan, hoping it would work and we’d be reunited within the hour. I’m pretty sure Gale isn’t going to knock me out and stab me, but there are still plenty of other things that could go awry.

I’m waffling on whether or not it’s wise or kind to hug him goodbye when I catch him waveringly opening up. So I take the decisive step forward and wrap my arms around his neck, feel his slip around my ribcage. I bury my face in his shoulder and allow myself to enjoy it for just a moment. His arms are not as steady as they once were, but still warm and strong. I start to pull back but then feel his hands opening up, splaying on either side of my waist. I make uneasy eye contact and see that his are even more focused than before. On my eyes, before they drop to my lips. He hasn’t made any move forward, but I stop him preemptively by pressing my palms into his collarbones.

“Peeta,” I mumble, disheartened. I swallow as his eyes dart away and his shoulders sag.

“Things aren’t the way they used to be, are they?”

I shake my head. “No,” I respond quietly. His brow creases slightly, and my heart sinks. I want to help clear things up for him, but this is an even less opportune time for this conversation than in the sewers. I don’t want to leave him while he’s reeling emotionally, and we definitely don’t have the time.

Peeta doesn’t ask for the specifics I feared he would. “But, in the sewer…”

I drop my eyes and finger the material under my hands. “I wish I could say I’m sorry for kissing you, but if I hadn’t, I might have had to shoot you.”

I didn’t intend for that to be funny, but Peeta catches me off guard by chuckling. And it seems genuine. Maybe his sense of humor got messed up in the hijacking, too. “Okay,” he says. He runs his hand down my arm and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“You will.”

Tigris is already moving to unbolt the door again. I kiss her cheek, pull my hood up, and follow Gale out into the frigid air.

***

My feet dangle in the air, no foothold anywhere, as my hands desperately cling to the paving stones bordering the street that just split down the middle and emptied those on it into whatever lies beneath. I barely made it to the end of the block before it gave way completely. From fifty feet below, a vile stench hits my nose, like rotted corpses in the summer heat. Black forms crawl around in the shadows, silencing whoever survives the fall.

A strangled cry comes from my throat. No one is coming to help me. I’m losing my grip on the icy ledge, when I see I’m only about six feet from the corner of the pod. I inch my hands along the ledge, trying to block out the terrifying sounds from below. When my hands straddle the corner, I swing my right boot up over the side. It catches on something and I painstakingly drag myself up to street level. Panting, trembling, I crawl out and wrap my arm around a lamppost for an anchor, although the ground’s perfectly flat.

“Gale?” I call into the abyss, heedless of being recognized. “Gale?”

“Over here!” I look in bewilderment to my left. The flap held up everything to the very base of the buildings. A dozen or so people made it that far and now hang from whatever provides a handhold. Doorknobs, knockers, mail slots. Three doors down from me, Gale clings to the decorative iron grating around an apartment door. He could easily get inside if it was open. But despite repeated kicks to the door, no one comes to his aid.

“Cover yourself!” I lift my gun. He turns away and I drill the lock until the door flies inward. Gale swings into the doorway, landing in a heap on the floor. For a moment, I experience the elation of his rescue. Then the white-gloved hands clamp down on him.

Gale meets my eyes, mouths something at me I can't make out. I don't know what to do. I can't leave him, but I can't reach him either. His lips move again, and this time I catch it. “Shoot me.” 

My stomach bucks so violently, I have to choke down my own vomit. Of course that’s what Gale’s saying. Nay, what he expects. He’s already seen me do it for one ally and one enemy. Yet my left arm refuses to straighten, to aim. My finger wavers on the trigger as I suck in a breath of courage and force my arm to move, try to align my scope to give him the quick, painless death he’ll only get from me. At any minute, the Peacekeepers will realize who they’ve captured, and no good scenarios can come of that. For a split second, I’m peering into fearful but stoic gray eyes. Then they are swept up in a sea of white, and before I can blink, the Peacekeepers have hauled him inside and out of my sight. I’m left staring helplessly at the empty doorway.

I stagger away numbly. As I start to gather my thoughts, all I can do is curse myself. I was able to shoot Johanna’s lifeline before the associated emotions could cloud my judgment, because of course I was. But now I’ve failed my own best friend. Cressida was right, I can hardly lay claim to that title after what I just did. Or didn’t do. I couldn’t bring myself to acquiesce to Gale’s plea for death, just like I couldn’t fulfill Peeta’s.

Peeta. Oh no. I wheel around and stare wide-eyed at the carnage behind me. He is surely either insane or dead by now, if he followed in our footsteps. Even if he did not fall victim to any pods, the chaos and atrocities Gale and I have witnessed since leaving the shop almost made me lose it, let alone Peeta. Bullets slicing through innocent children, a gush of steam parboiling everyone in its path. An entire block succumbing to a mystery weapon that made blood spray from their bodies out any exit it could find. Shooting reflexively with our stolen weapons at anyone in our path in the foggy aftermath of the steam pod. If I stop and think about it - no, I have stopped, and I am thinking about it. And it makes me want to sink to the ground and swallow my precious purple pill to escape the demons screeching in my head. If Peeta’s done the same, I could hardly blame him.

My hatred for President Snow is all that moves me forward. All of this only adds fuel to that fire. I don’t know who the pods were targeting or how they got activated, but it’s Snow’s fucking arena. Grasping my gun close to my chest, I survey the block. There’s only a handful of dazed-looking stragglers. I trail close behind a pair of old men who take no notice of me. No one will expect me to be with old men. When we reach the end of the next intersection, they stop and I almost bump into them. It’s the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president’s mansion.

I survey all directions for signs of Peeta, hoping he sensed trouble and took an alternate route to the Circle. My natural instinct is to go looking for him, but the plan was always to meet up once inside the mansion. So I start toward it and keep an eye out for any sign of refugees being rounded up and corralled that way. About halfway there, I become aware of the concrete barricade. It’s about four feet high and extends in a large rectangle in front of the mansion, and it’s already packed with refugees, guarded by Peacekeepers. My face falls, and I begin brainstorming ways to get into it undetected. But as I draw closer, I notice something else. Everyone inside the barricade is a child. Toddlers to teenagers. I could see children being prioritized for refugee placement, but toddlers without their parents strikes me as odd. I squint at the spectacle, these children huddled in groups, scared and frostbitten. Not being treated like guests at all. That’s when I realize that they are not lined up to enter the mansion. They are lined up to protect the mansion. The children form Snow’s human shield.

There’s a commotion and the crowd surges to the left. I’m caught up by larger bodies, borne sideways, carried off course. I hear shouts of “The rebels! The rebels!” and know they must’ve broken through. The momentum slams me into a flagpole and I cling to it. Using the rope that hangs from the top, I pull myself up out of the crush of bodies. Yes, I can see the rebel army pouring into the Circle, driving the refugees back onto the avenues. I scan the area for the pods that will surely be detonating. But that doesn’t happen. This is what happens:

A hovercraft marked with the Capitol’s seal materializes directly over the barricaded children. Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food. Medicine. Gifts. They eagerly scoop them up, frozen fingers struggling with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes, five seconds pass, and then about twenty parachutes simultaneously explode.

A wail rises from the crowd. The snow’s red and littered with undersized body parts. Many of the children die immediately, but others lie in agony on the ground. Some stagger around mutely, staring at the remaining silver parachutes in their hands, as if they still might have something precious inside. I can tell the Peacekeepers didn't know this was coming by the way they are yanking away the barricades, making a path to the children. Another group swarms the opening, wielding medical kits. Rebel medics. I’d know the uniforms anywhere.

First I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt. Like the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping, the wind is knocked out of me, and I find myself unable to move. A thousand thoughts compete for my attention: It’s not possible. Where’s Mom? How could she let Prim come here? How could Jo let her come here? 

When I realize that I’ve slid to the base of the flagpole, I also realize that none of that matters. All that matters is that I reach her, pull her to safety. Like I did at the reaping. I push through the crowd, shouting her name, just as I did then. But this crowd doesn’t part for me, nor is it gravely silent. I’m almost there, almost to the barricade, when I think she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name.

And that’s when the rest of the parachutes go off.

***

Ashes. Ashes everywhere. Disintegrating under my boots, catching in Effie’s wig. Polluting the air and threatening to choke me. They are the dead, and they crave vengeance. I stare blankly at the crumbled Justice Building, trying not to think about the road behind me, littered with corpses. It is all I can think about. I survey what was once the Square, now unrecognizable. This is my home, but there is nothing left for me here.

“I should have known there’d be nothing.” I turn to Effie. “This was all my fault.”

“Oh, Katniss.” She snakes an arm around my shoulders. “You didn’t drop those bombs.”

“Then who did?”

“Your enemies, of course.” That’s far from helpful at the moment.

“I keep putting everyone I love in danger,” I lament. “How could I be so irresponsible?” Tears sting my eyes. Or maybe that’s the vengeful ashes, too.

“You couldn’t have known,” says Effie. “You did what you thought was right. You saved lives.”

I nod curtly, staring straight ahead. “And ended so many.” Effie has no argument.

A young girl materializes between me and the crumbled remains of the platform. A girl with a blond braid and an untucked shirt tail. Slowly marching to her fate. A flicker of hope flares up in my chest, joining the alarm constricting it. “Prim?” I call out to her. “Prim!”

She stops her forward progress and turns her head. She says one last word. “Katniss.” And then she combusts on the spot. Then she, too, is nothing but ashes.

The sight of this fire reignites my own, reignites the agony that existed before I fell into this dream state. A scream dies in my throat, only a choked whimper passing my lips. No one can hear my pain. Not even me. 

I helplessly sink to my knees in the rubble. I am not that girl I was at the reaping, terrified but brave, desperate to save her sister. Nor am I the Mockingjay, the rebellion personified. I am only a badly burned girl with no voice. With no home. And no sister.

My hair tickles my cheek, cutting through the torment, numbing it somehow. I reach to tuck it behind my ear, but my fingers can’t grasp it. There’s nothing there, but the foreign sensation continues, only grows stronger. I feel it dragging me into another realm, against my will. I fear that whatever I face there will be even worse.

My eyes crack open to the sight of a small hand brushing over part of my face. One of the few places I feel no pain. But there is much pain in my companion’s face, in her wide-set brown eyes. She’s been crying. For who or what, I don’t know. There are many reasons, now. For all of us.

She gulps, her voice raw as she speaks. “You’re alive.”

I know the words I should say. They echo in my head. But they won’t make it to my tongue. My lungs won’t suck the breath to voice them, my tongue refuses to move and give them life. They are trapped, as I am, within my mind and body.

Perhaps it is better this way. There is nothing more to say between us. I failed her. She failed me. Whatever was between us is now as broken as we are.

So I turn my face from the woman I loved, in the time such feelings could exist, and close my eyes. I so wish she was wrong. But she’s not. She rarely is.

No kidding, brainless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not joking when I said I write things far in advance. I drafted parts of this chapter over a year ago, and that's how the fic title came to be. I didn't want you all to think I just worked it in now for fun. ;)
> 
> D7P, I am sorry for bitching at you when you do your job too well. You weren't wrong. You rarely are.


	19. Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of great quotes in the chapters of Mockingjay that this chapter covers, so despite some notable differences, lots of canon content has been worked back into the text in various places, as well as canon quotes from other points in the series. Some bits remain unchanged or only slightly altered. There are a few bits of movie canon infused as well. Of course, I am not claiming any of those contributions to the work as mine.
> 
> Profanity, angst, disturbing content, yada yada.

In the dazzling white Capitol hospital, the doctors work their magic on me. Draping my rawness in new sheets of skin. Coaxing the cells into thinking they are my own. Manipulating my body parts, bending and stretching the limbs to assure a good fit. I hear over and over again how lucky I am. My eyes were spared. Most of my face was spared. My lungs are responding to treatment. I will be as good as new.

Johanna hasn’t been back. I’m sure that wasn’t her choice - no visitors are allowed yet because I’m lying naked on some kind of foam. Other than hers, the only familiar voice and face I’ve encountered belong to my mother, who sleeps on a chair in my room between shifts. Perhaps it was her who helped Johanna sneak in that time she came and pulled me out of a nightmare and into hell. I wish I could go back, just dream of these awful things instead of having to face them, but it’s no use. The morphling only takes the edge off the pain, and does nothing to ease my mind.

Haymitch is the first visitor to arrive once my tender skin has toughened enough to withstand the pressure of sheets. His face is stony and he says very little, only that Effie is “helping” him to retain his sobriety and he’s miserable because here it’s so much easier to find something to drink. He’s just pointing out a bottle of rubbing alcohol in a rather fragile-looking glass cabinet when a commotion out in the hall grabs the attention of both of us. As it moves our way, the arguing voices become more distinct, and one of them fills my stomach with a confusing mix of butterflies and dread. It’s foolish, really, because she’s not going to kill me. I wish she would.

“I don’t care who it is!” Johanna snaps, her pitch heightened with frustration. “She’s my girlfriend and I shouldn’t have to wait.”

A sassy reply in a strong Capitol accent quickly greets that assertion. “Yeah, and I’m President Alma Coin. Did you ask her out just before you knocked her unconscious?”

“How about I knock you unconscious?” she growls.

Rolling his eyes, Haymitch stands. “I’d better take care of this,” he grumbles, “but I’ll come see you again.”

“Rules are rules, Miss Mason,” maintains the unfamiliar male voice.

“ _Soldier_ Mason,” Johanna barks just as Haymitch pushes open the door.

“What seems to be the problem here?” my mentor interjects.

“ _Soldier Mason_ here feels she should be exempt from the policy of one visitor only to patients still in intensive care in the burn unit,” the man snarks. “Despite the fact that it’s a health regulation that is intended to keep her _girlfriend_ safe.”

“I am going to rip your fucking-”

“Johanna!” interjects Haymitch impatiently. “It’s okay, I’m just leaving.” Then he addresses her antagonist. “By the way, she was telling the truth. I’d know.”

A surprised chuckle fills the air. “Well, what do you know?”

“Shut the fuck up.” With that, Johanna storms into the room and slams the door. When she turns and approaches my bed, the first thing she says to me is, “I’m gonna punch that fucking man-nurse in the teeth.” It almost makes me smile affectionately. I can feel the impulse, a slight stirring in my gut, but I’m not really capable of smiling or feeling any kind of emotion right now, much less affection.

Plopping down in the chair, she reaches for my damaged hand and takes it gently. Her touch feels foreign, somehow. Familiar, but out of place. “Hi, baby,” she greets me with deliberate sweetness after that outburst. “How are you feeling?” A moment of silent stares passes, and she shakes her head with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, that was a terrible question.”

Something resembling a tiny snort passes my lips, burning my sandpaper throat on the way up. At this point, it’s probably raw more from lack of use than from my injuries in the explosion. I was likely screaming in agony the last time I used it, but I don’t remember much past the instant I saw flaming pieces of my sister scattering in the Circle after the detonation. Just a flash of that visual tightens my throat painfully and I immediately find myself struggling for breath. It’s like Peeta’s hands are wrapped around my neck again, and the terror the feeling brings me only exacerbates my panic. My heart rate monitor is going crazy behind me, its urgency further intensifying the attack, almost drowning out the sound of Johanna calling my name with concern.

Suddenly, a warm pressure against my mouth steals my attention away from my constricted windpipe. My eyebrows shoot up as my unfocused eyes settle on Johanna pressing her lips to mine with a silent urgency, her eyes squeezed shut in concentration and sheer will. My ability to move has been sorely lacking, but either I can still act on reflex or my lips simply have a life of their own, because I feel them reply with a twitch and then a firmer peck.

Johanna pulls back slowly, eyes intently on mine. “It’s okay,” she breathes. “I’m here.” Brushing a piece of hair from my face, she continues, “The war is over now. No one is going to hurt you here, okay?”

My breath catches in my throat again, but for an entirely different reason. So she does remember. My lips on hers in the muddy training field. My whispered promises, now proven untrue. My act of desperation that, in its own way, started all of this. Started me on this path to Johanna. Tears glisten in her eyes as she repeats, “No one is going to hurt you.”

My eyes burn as I process this moment and the bittersweet memory attached to it, but produce no tears. I’ve shed as many tears as I’ve spoken words since rejoining reality, however many days ago that was. My sense of time is fuzzy under the influence of morphling and this crushing sadness. No, I wish it was sadness. Then I could feel something. This is just nothingness.

Refocusing on Johanna, I take in her mourning eyes, slumped posture. I give her hand a lame squeeze in a pathetic effort to comfort her, to heal the pain I’ve caused her with my negligence. Still throwing affection at pain, like I do. Like I did, multiple times during the invasion. Guilt starts pressing on my chest, squeezing from all sides. I wonder how Jo would feel if she knew I did the same thing for Peeta, kissed him back to reality. I decide I don’t want to find out.

“So is this how it’s gonna be?” she mumbles. “Are you never going to talk to me again?” She must not realize that I’m not talking to anyone. The last word I recall saying was my sister’s name. Even if I could, I’m not sure I’d ever want to speak another word again. “Katniss, don’t be like this. We need each other to get through this.” When I still don’t respond, her head drops and she mutters to the mattress, “I need you, anyway.”

She doesn’t understand that we can’t go on. That I can’t go on. That I wish I’d died in that explosion. That, for all intents and purposes, I did. If I even attempt to rekindle this, I’ll just hurt her.

The silence eventually drives Johanna away, and more visitors arrive. The morphling opens the door to the dead and alive alike. Cinna, stitching a new wedding dress. Delly, prattling on about the niceness of people. My father sings all four stanzas of “The Hanging Tree” and reminds me that my mother isn't to know about it. He’s just lulling me back to sleep with “Deep in the Meadow” after a night of fitful nightmares when a knock sounds at the door.

My mother steps in, oblivious to the ghost of her husband at my bedside. “Katniss, are you up for another visitor?” she asks. “One of your squadmates is here to see you.” Usually my dead visitors come unannounced, so my brow crinkles in bewilderment. She wouldn’t refer to Peeta that way, and he’s the only one alive and in the Capitol. In the burn unit, she’s told me. He made it to the City Circle after all. Cressida and Pollux have been sent out into the districts to cover the wreckage of the war. Gale, who took two bullets in an escape attempt, is mopping up Peacekeepers in Two.

The confusion abates when I give a tiny nod of assent and my mother steps aside, allowing a tall boy in a hospital gown to limp into the room. Soldier Silas Kearns. One of his arms hangs limply in a sling, but he raises the other in an awkward little wave. The blonde slips out the door behind him, leaving us alone.

“Hello, Katniss,” he greets me uncertainly. Is it my imagination, or has his voice dropped since the last time I saw him? His face certainly has. Scarred on one side, cheeks slack and devoid of color, eyes missing the naiveté I resented yet envied. He shuffles forward, still favoring his left leg. “I avoided stepping on any landmines, you’d be proud,” he informs me, attempting to smile. As he pulls the chair closer with his right hand, he explains, “But one of my squadmates did, and I got a healthy dose of shrapnel.”

Blinking to acknowledge this, I scan my eyes over his body as he eases himself down with a wince. “Got thrown back against a wall, cracked some ribs and my noggin.” His hospital gown is slipping down his right shoulder, and between it and the strap of the sling, I can make out a few circular scars on his mostly uninjured side, still purple in the early stages of healing. Bullets. His bad leg is bandaged up, but I see no obvious signs of deformity.

Seeing where my eyes have settled, he says, “I should have been out of the hospital by now, but that got badly infected. There was no one to transport me back to camp, and we were short on medics at Line A. They had to keep moving with the troops to deal with the casualties piling up at the front, anyway, didn’t have time to much more than bandage it. It was a couple days before anyone came back for me.” Another attempted smile graces his lips, this one marginally more successful. “But I guess I should be grateful I got pulled from the field before all hell broke loose that last day.”

A lump forms in my throat as the visions of that day replay in my mind yet again, and I’m forced to look away. Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

“Boobs is okay,” Kearns adds with a smirk, piling on the unsolicited information. I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. “She was en route to the Capitol when it fell, the day we took the Circle. I think she was disappointed to have missed the action until she saw how I looked.” He chuckles darkly. “Unfortunately, the bullets here are real.”

This would sound completely ridiculous had I not experienced the Block, or lived in Thirteen. The military machine may have prepared its soldiers for the fight, but not for the war. Like the Capitol’s residents, there’s no understanding such violence until it’s on your doorstep.

“Have you seen Johanna?” His voice calls my eyes back to catch his. They are earnest, with a hint of concern. A small nod answers his question, but still he sits there, right knee bobbing nervously. When I lift my eyebrows with as much sass as I can muster, he shakes his head and exhales heavily, leaning forward.

“I lost my younger brother in the pox epidemic,” he discloses, watching me carefully. I can only stare numbly. “I just wanted to let you know I’m here, if you… if you want to talk, or anything.” That’s a useless offer if ever there was one, but sweet all the same. I’m used to Twiggy being useless, though. I blink in answer.

“I guess, at least we won?” he suggests, putting on a brave face. “Things will be better now, Katniss. The districts are united again, and no more children will ever have to die to satisfy someone’s petty need for vengeance. Everyone’s going to be taken care of. President Coin is running the country now, and she’s going to make some big changes. There’s hope for the future.” 

If he really believes that, maybe he still has some of that naiveté left. But I think he just wants to believe it. Because his injuries aren’t all that weighs him down as he stands and struggles his way to the door. Just another wasted tribute. Soldier, whatever.

Later that day, Johanna returns. “Your mom told me you haven’t said a word since you woke up,” she admits sheepishly, settling in the chair. “Sorry about yesterday. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed it was personal, I’m just used to-” Her voice catches and she has to clear her throat. “To people hurting me. I thought you were pushing me away because of… because I failed you.”

How pathetic it is that I can’t tell her she was right. Though it has just as much to do with me failing her. But maybe it’s for the best if she doesn’t realize that for now. She’s already hurting so much. How could I possibly tell her I need to be left alone to mourn, to die?

“I wish I’d told you,” she laments in a whisper, breaking my train of thought. My eyes return to hers in a silent question, and she clarifies, “That they were coming. That she was coming.” A knife twists in my gut, and though I can’t recall the last time I ate anything, I’m suddenly feeling like I could vomit at any second. Jo doesn’t catch my reaction, because she’s dropped her gaze to her fidgeting hands. “That’s why I was back in the hospital when we talked on the phone. There weren’t any tests, I just had no one to live with. And I should have told you.”

Of course. Johanna’s return to the hospital, her cryptic statement that it wasn’t her I needed to worry about. Prim’s subdued reaction when I said I was glad she was out of Snow’s reach. She knew even then that she wanted to come, and I didn’t even notice because I was too caught up in my own drama. If I’d known, I would have stayed in Thirteen just to make sure she went nowhere. If I’d known-

“You would have turned around when you had the chance,” Johanna mumbles. As I absorb these words, my pulse speeds up in a panic. Who has she been talking to? Gale? Peeta? Does she know I shot her best friend, too? “Maybe you’d have found a way to stop her, and everyone would still be alive.”

Everyone. She doesn’t just mean Prim. She means Finnick. Is she blaming me for Finnick’s death? Or herself for his as well as Prim’s? My mind is too foggy to comprehend the weight of her words, let alone their intention. Sometimes I couldn’t figure that out even when I was caught up in our love affair and hanging on her every word.

“I wanted to tell you, Katniss,” she stresses. “I need you to know that. They asked me not to, because they didn’t want to worry or distract you.”

Distract me? My eyes grow as the words hit me. How could my little sister ever be considered a distraction? Ever think I’d see her as one? She was my life. Until Johanna came along, anyway. As I stare at my lover, a dull anger joins the pain in my chest. I was wrong back in Tigris’s shop. The one person I can’t survive without is Prim. It’s been thrown into such sharp relief ever since that second round of parachutes exploded. Johanna was the distraction.

My sights narrow as all the muted feelings I’m experiencing rapidly distill into one pure emotion. I hate Johanna for making me love her, for taking over my life. I hate myself for spending so much time with her when I should have been with my mother and sister. Watching over them, or at least making memories that now I’ll never have. How could I be so irresponsible and selfish? I don’t deserve love, anyway. I deserve to be alone. The rageful loathing coursing through my veins gives me the strength to lift my leaden arm, point at the door.

“What?” Johanna looks over her shoulder, then back to me in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you pointing at?” Lacking the energy to move any more, I try to harden my gaze. From the way her posture wilts, it seems she gets the message.

“You want me to go?” she confirms, the hurt and surprise as plain in her tone as they are in her face. When I respond with a curt nod, she swallows and compliantly gets to her feet. “Okay,” she responds evenly. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” 

I shake my head sharply, voicing my dissent as loudly as I can. Johanna pales briefly, grabbing at the chair for support, before narrowing her eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she demands, desperation tainting her aggressive tone.

“Prim.” The surprise of me uttering even a single word delays Johanna’s reaction, but it’s still unmistakeable. Her face hardens as color floods her cheeks and she straightens up, fists tightening. Her walls have just come back up with a vengeance, and this is only proven by her bout of laughter. High-pitched, sarcastic. Johanna’s signature defense mechanism. I can now detect the slight catches in it from surprise and anguish, but I know what it means. My hand drops. It is no longer needed.

“You know what, Katniss?” she sneers. “I know what it’s like to lose my family too, in case you don’t recall. I took it badly, but at least I knew better than to push away the one last person who cared about me.” Another cackle sounds before she levels the death blow with piercing, spiteful eyes. “Not that it matters. You took care of him for me anyway, didn't you?”

My eyes warble in and out of focus as the blood drains from my head. That stings far worse than any of her physical slaps to the face. I zero in on her again and growl, “Get out, Johanna.”

“Gladly,” she snarls. But before she does, she snatches the chair and hurls it across the room, sending it crashing into the supply cabinet. The glass shatters loudly and makes my heart jump, though my body stays put. Her flaming eyes hold my shocked ones for one frightening second before she wheels around and makes for the hallway, where I can already hear people rushing to investigate the noise.

My body finally reacts and starts to shudder as echoes of angry voices invade the room, swiftly followed by bodies that are just as unwelcome. Hospital staff clean up the mess and “comfort” me, assuring me that Johanna has been banned from the burn unit. And that’s when I come to fully understand her actions. She wasn’t just acting out of rage or trying to scare me. She was burning bridges. Trying to end it on her own terms, and to hurt me back. I try to pretend she wasn’t at all successful.

***

Eventually, I’m released from the hospital and given a room in the president’s mansion to share with my mother. She’s almost never there, taking her meals and sleeping at the hospital. Burying her grief in her work. At least that’s better than how she handled it last time. Still, it falls to Haymitch to check on me, make sure I’m eating and using my medicines. It’s not an easy job. I take to my old habits from District 13, wandering unauthorized through the mansion seeking strange little hiding spaces. Though I could surely go days without food if not prompted to eat, the need for morphling always drives me back if Haymitch doesn’t find me first. I’m starting to understand why Johanna’s withdrawal symptoms made her so insufferable. Even more than usual, that is.

All the victors are being housed in one area of the mansion, and despite being very much in my own world, I’m acutely aware that Jo is staying two doors down and across the hall. But I don’t darken her door, nor does she come knocking on mine. I’m torn between wishing she would and relief that she hasn’t, between aching for her presence and dreading it. She reminds me of all I’ve lost, yet it feels like she’s all I have left. I don’t have her, though. I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t - can’t - love her anymore. But I do realize that, since the parachutes, the only times I’ve felt anything other than paralyzing grief were when she was around.

A side effect of that grief is the lack of motivation to end it. To end everything. There’s also one last reason for me to keep going. Before I was released, President Coin paid me a visit in the hospital and told me she was saving Snow for me. That I would be the one to take his life. When that's done, nothing will be left. And then maybe I can take my own in peace.

The time draws near, although I could not give you exact hours and minutes. President Snow has been tried and found guilty, sentenced to execution. Haymitch tells me, I hear talk of it as I drift past the guards in the hallways. My Mockingjay suit arrives in my room. Also my bow, looking no worse for wear, but no sheath of arrows. Either because they were damaged or more likely because I shouldn't have weapons. I vaguely wonder if I should be preparing for the event in some way, but nothing comes to mind. All I know is that it’s the end. Snow killed my sister. Now I will kill him. And then the Hunger Games will be over.

Late one afternoon, after a long period in a cushioned window seat behind a painted screen, I emerge and turn left instead of right. I find myself in a strange part of the mansion, and immediately lose my bearings. Unlike the area where I’m quartered, there seems to be no one around to ask. I like it, though. Wish I’d found it sooner. It’s so quiet, with the thick carpets and heavy tapestries soaking up the sound. Softly lit. Muted colors. Peaceful. Until I smell the roses. I dive behind some curtains, shaking too hard to run, while I await the mutts. Finally, I realize there are no mutts coming. So, what do I smell? Real roses? Could it be that I am near the garden where the evil things grow?

As I creep down the hall, the odor becomes overpowering. Perhaps not as strong as the actual mutts, but purer, because it’s not competing with sewage and explosives. I turn a corner and find myself staring at two surprised guards. Not Peacekeepers, of course. There are no more Peacekeepers. But not the trim, gray-uniformed soldiers from Thirteen either. These two, a man and a woman, wear the tattered, thrown-together clothes of actual rebels. Still bandaged and gaunt, they are now keeping watch over the doorway to the roses. When I move to enter, their guns form an X in front of me.

“You can’t go in, miss,” says the man.

“Soldier,” the woman corrects him. “You can’t go in, Soldier Everdeen. President’s orders.”

“But I-” My feeble voice falters and I have to clear my throat. Despite regaining my ability to speak since the chair incident, I’ve rarely had the will to. I could probably count the number of times I have on both hands. “I need something in there.” Just a rose. A single bloom. To place in Snow’s lapel before I shoot him.

“I’m sorry, but it’s off-limits,” she maintains. When I fail to retreat, she and her companion exchange uneasy glances.

“Let her go in.” The authority in the voice is what helps me place it, despite having heard it only a handful of times. I turn my head to make eye contact with Paylor. “On my authority,” she says to the guards. “She has a right to anything behind that door.” These are her soldiers, not Coin’s. They drop their weapons without question and let me pass.

At the end of a short hallway, I push apart the glass doors and step inside the greenhouse. The damp, mild air feels good on my hot skin, and the roses are glorious, row after row of sumptuous blooms in varying hues. But the smell is still making my pulse race, so I don’t waste much time admiring them. I know when I find it, crowning the top of a slender bush. A magnificent white bud just beginning to open. I pull my left sleeve over my hand so that my skin won't actually have to touch it, take up a pair of pruning shears, and have just positioned them on the stem when he speaks.

“That's a nice one.”

My hand jerks and the shears snap shut, severing the stem.

“The colors are lovely, of course, but nothing says perfection like white.”

I still can't see him, but his voice seems to rise up from an adjacent bed of red roses. Delicately pinching the stem of the bud through the fabric of my sleeve, I move slowly around the corner and find him sitting on a stool against the wall. He's as well groomed and finely dressed as ever, but weighted down with manacles, ankle shackles, tracking devices. In the bright light, his skin's a pale, sickly green. He holds a white handkerchief spotted with fresh blood. Even in his deteriorated state, his snake eyes shine bright and cold. “I was hoping you’d find your way to my quarters.”

His quarters. I have trespassed into his home, the way he slithered into mine last year, hissing threats with his bloody, rosy breath. That's why the guards halted me. And that's why Paylor let me in. A sick sort of elation grows inside of me as I realize how the tables have turned, and what power she has just granted me. Stalking forward, I squeeze the shears open and shut a few times, menacingly slowly. “So was I.”

The former president chuckles disparagingly. “So eager. You can’t wait another day?” My eyes squint in bewilderment. “Oh, they didn’t tell you? Well, I suppose there’s no need. It’s not as though your contribution extends beyond pulling a string,” he muses, his eyes glistening mockingly. He means the execution. It’s tomorrow.

“Who says I want to kill you?” is my measured response. “You didn’t kill me.” Creeping ever closer, I tilt my head and eye him calculatedly. “You just hurt me.” I squeeze the shears repeatedly again, making them squeak with every word. “In every way you could.” Bending down to his level, I end that sentence with the tool and my eyes pointed straight at his, with no hint of mercy.

“Funny you mention that,” he replies, unperturbed, “seeing as it’s President Coin who is responsible for your latest suffering, physical and otherwise.” His eyes are glued on me, unblinking, so as not to miss a second of my reaction. “I wanted to extend my deepest condolences, though.”

He’s baiting me, but I can’t help myself. “What are you talking about?” I demand, shears still inches from those snake eyes.

“Well, you really didn't think it was my people that dropped those parachutes, did you? Forget the obvious fact that if I'd had a working hovercraft at my disposal, I'd have been using it to make an escape. But that aside, what purpose could it have served? We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children. None at all.”

I wonder if his ensuing fit of coughing is staged so that I can have time to absorb his words. He's lying. Of course, he's lying. But there's something struggling to free itself from the lie as well. Like the blood is struggling to free itself from his lungs.

“However, I must concede it was a masterful move on Coin's part. The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children turned my allies and even the most loyal Peacekeepers against me. Some of them even had children in the pen.” Snow dabs the corners of his mouth. “It brought a swift end to the war, as Coin intended. She didn’t know that I was just about to issue an official surrender, of course. If she hadn’t been so impatient, that precious little girl would still be alive.”

Even in my deadened, drugged condition, this sends a stab of pain through me. Reminding me that there are no limits to his cruelty. And how he will go to his grave trying to destroy me. The points of the shears rake down his cheeks on the way to his throat. “Do not talk to me about my sister,” I growl.

“This isn’t about her,” he replies calmly. “This is about Coin. Make no mistake, she was intending to take my place right from the beginning. To let the Capitol and districts destroy one another, and then step in to take power with Thirteen barely scratched.” My brow furrows a little at that, simply because that is in fact what she’s done. Then it arches as I remember something. Looking at a design for a trap just like this one, back in Special Weaponry. One that played on human sympathies. The first bomb killed the victims. The second, the rescuers. I feel myself slowly straightening up, though my jaw remains at floor level. 

“My failure was being so slow to grasp Coin's plan,” Snow continues, observing my reactions intently. “But I wasn’t watching Coin. I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I’m afraid we have both been played for fools.”

I refuse for this to be true. Some things even I can't survive. “I don't believe you.”

Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

It’s not a lie, not exactly. But it isn’t the truth, either. After a long moment, I reach forward with the shears and pluck the bloodied handkerchief from his grasp.

“I’ll be taking this,” I tell him, before heading for the door. When I’m almost there, I shove the shears deep into a bush and release his precious hanky, leaving it hidden and a long walk away for a sick old man in ankle shackles. Let him get the blood all over his hands and sleeves, reflect on all the lives he’s taken. I doubt he feels any remorse, but neither do I, not for a second.

Peering over the bushes in the direction I saw him last, I deliver a menacing promise. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Out in the hall, I find Paylor standing in exactly the same spot. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks.

Did I? Of course I found a rose in a greenhouse full of roses, but it wasn’t really the rose I was seeking. I know that now because of the lack of satisfaction I feel. What I really wanted was a symbol of victory, of thwarting my enemy. But now I don’t know who the enemy is. I hold up the white bud with a listless shrug and then brush by her, lost in thought.

I want to say President Coin would never do such a thing, but I can’t. Oh, I physically can now, but I don’t believe it, not for a second. This is the woman who flooded the streets during Jo’s Block test. Who sent my insane fiancé to the Capitol, knowing he may very well kill me. Perhaps even hoping he would. No, both Presidents are capable of such an act, I decide. And while the Capitol didn’t fire on the craft, Snow also wasn’t trying to use it to escape, so who was manning it is ambiguous. So, it all comes down to motive.

While I want to believe it was Snow who gave the order, it’s not as though killing the rebels who rushed to the children’s aid would save him, anyway. There were thousands more where they came from, and the rescuers were mostly medics, not soldiers. And obviously, many of his Peacekeepers would perish too. Like he said, there was no reason for him to do so. As for Coin, it also doesn’t make much sense. Despite Snow’s argument, Coin didn’t need to expedite the end of the war at that point. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp.

Except me.

Boggs's words when my would-be assassin arrived in camp start bouncing around in my head. “You’ve made yourself a glaring threat to Coin.” “You’ve given her a solid reason to believe you would not support her leadership.” Did she somehow know I would be in the Circle and hope I would get taken out in the blast, what with my tendency to rush to the rescue of innocents? No, there’s no way she could have. We’d been out of contact for days and I was in disguise. Hoping I would be there seems a ridiculous gamble to sacrifice innocent children and her own citizens for. She’d have to be more certain of her target’s location.

Suddenly, I’m thinking of Prim, who was not yet fourteen, not yet old enough to be granted the title of Soldier, but somehow working on the front lines. How did such a thing happen? That my sister would have wanted to be there, I have no doubt. That she would be more capable than many older than she is a given. But for all that, someone very high up would have had to approve putting a thirteen year-old in combat. Did Coin do it, hoping that losing Prim would push me completely over the edge? Or, at least, firmly on her side? I wouldn't even have had to witness it in person. Numerous cameras would be covering the City Circle. Capturing the moment forever.

No, now I am going crazy, slipping into some state of paranoia. Too many people would know of the mission. Word would get out. Or would it? Who would have to know besides Coin, Plutarch, and a small, loyal or easily disposable crew?

I badly need help working this out, only everyone I trust is dead. Cinna. Boggs. Finnick. Prim. There’s Peeta, but he couldn’t do any more than speculate, and who knows what state his mind’s in, anyway. Johanna was in Thirteen when the bombs dropped, but she was hardly cozy with Coin. And besides, she hates me right now and would probably slam her door in my face if I knocked. And that leaves only Gale. He’s far away, but even if he were beside me, could I confide in him? What could I say, how could I phrase it, without implying that it was his bomb that killed Prim? The impossibility of that idea, more than any, is why Snow must be lying.

Ultimately, there's only one person to turn to who might know what happened and might still be on my side. Haymitch may have been working with Thirteen throughout the war, but they betrayed his trust with their treatment of his fellow victor in the Block. He even said outright that he’s been hesitant to trust Coin since, but maybe he was still close enough to catch wind of something like this.

So, after a brief stop to stick the rose in a glass of water in my bathroom, I cross the hall and knock on my mentor’s door. He calls for me to come in, and I ease the door open and edge into his room.

“Oh, look who it is,” he drawls as I lock the door behind me. “Come to pay your dear old mentor a visit?”

Having no pride left to spare anyway, I nod and confess, “I need your help.”

“So you’re talking today?” he observes, eyebrows arched. “Imagine that.”

“Haymitch, please,” I groan, but we both hear the undertone of desperation. His gaze turns serious, and I scan the room edgily. “Are we alone?”

“Effie’s in the bath,” he informs me. “But these Capitol princess types take long baths, so we should have some time.” So I join him at the small table where he sits and dump all my thoughts on him. Recount my confrontation with Snow, explain my theories and my doubts. His face is grave throughout.

Finally, he admits, “The bombing never made sense to me, either. It doesn’t seem like a logical move, from Snow’s standpoint. It’s crossed my mind before that it might have been Coin trying to expedite the war, end it sooner so less of her people would die in battle. But plenty of them were killed in the blast, too. They would have had to, to make people believe it was Snow.”

“You didn’t hear any talk of it in Thirteen, did you?” I probe. “Any plans?”

“I was really only privy to the happenings in Command because of my connection with you,” he explains. “I wasn’t in on the invasion very much. And Beetee never mentioned a plan to use that trap.”

“He wouldn’t have to know.”

“True. But I’m not convinced that Coin would sacrifice the lives of innocents to further her own agenda. Children, no less.”

“Capitol children,” I point out.

“And her own troops.”

Kearns’s account of his experience on Line A, of being left behind and hardly tended to, comes to mind. “Somehow, I don’t think the lives of individuals mattered that much to her,” I scoff. “Except maybe mine.” Then my mouth slips open as I recall the story in more detail. “Twig- my friend, he said the medics were all being pushed to the front. Not staying with the wounded or transporting them back to camp. It’s almost like Coin wanted them there.”

Haymitch leans back in his chair and studies me seriously. “So that’s really what you believe, then? That Coin was gunning for your sister, for your sanity.”

“I don’t know if I believe it. I'm just trying to piece things out, and right now it seems like the most logical explanation. It sounds like a crazy conspiracy theory, but is it really that crazy?” Raising my eyebrows pointedly, I remind him, “She sent Peeta to the Capitol in hopes he would kill me off.”

“Quite possibly true, and don’t think I’ve forgotten. For either of your sakes.” His eyes drop to the water he’s idly swirling around in his tumbler. I hope it’s water, anyway. “But this is a whole other level of twisted. Coin hasn’t proven herself to be that kind of a leader.”

“Hasn’t she?” I argue. “You told me to give her the benefit of the doubt before, and then she put Jo back in the hospital.”

“There was a logical reason for that, though.”

“So? There can be a logical reason for anything. For flooding the Block, for bombing the Nut. Hell, even for the Hunger Games. Keep the districts in line to prevent further bloodshed.” Tossing my hands demonstratively, I extrapolate, “How much further is bombing some children to end a war? Or to keep power when you’re convinced you’re the best leader?”

“You’re driving yourself insane, sweetheart,” Haymitch grouses, shaking his head. “I’d suggest you have a drink, but I wouldn’t be able to hold off.”

“It still feels strange having one of these conversations without alcohol involved,” I admit, quirking my mouth.

Sighing heavily, Haymitch pinches his forehead. “Look, Katniss, you’re just gonna keep beating your head against the wall over this. You might be right, I don't know, but we’re never going to know who it was. You should give it a rest. Give yourself a rest.”

“I can’t.” When my mentor catches my eye with a hint of exasperation, I hold his gaze meaningfully and tell him, “I need to know who the enemy is.” That makes him drop his eyes again, and nod solemnly. Bracing my elbows on the table, I rest my face in the palms of my hands. “Who have we put in power, Haymitch?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions. “I lost faith in Coin after the Block test, and I’m hardly her biggest fan, but she’s sure as shit not as bad as Snow.”

“But what if she is? What if she turns out to be?”

“Well, it's not like the country would survive another revolution so soon,” he muses. “Coin has promised a democracy, and an election as soon as the nation has stabilized. If things are bad, the victors backing another candidate would swing support, like she feared you would.” Creases riddle his forehead as he scratches his beard. “Though who knows when she'll deem things stable enough.”

“Exactly,” I stress. “She can keep putting it off as long as we let her.”

“We?”

“The victors. Everyone that backed her and let her become the de facto leader of the rebellion. We’re all responsible.” I find myself nibbling on my cheek just before I admit, “Me, especially. I was her prop.”

“You didn’t want to be,” he points out. “You were pressured into it, and you made that deal to save Peeta. Wasn’t that worth it?”

“Yes,” is my immediate answer. But then I remember all that’s been lost as well as gained, and I falter. “Maybe?”

“It saved Johanna, too.” My stomach spasms at those words, and I look down at it as it gurgles unhappily. It’s only once I return my eyes to Haymitch’s scrutinizing gaze that he asks, “Why aren’t you talking to her?”

“I haven’t really been talking to anyone,” I shrug.

“You know what I mean.”

Squinting as I lean back defensively, I inquire, “What has she told you?”

“That you kicked her out of your room and told her not to come back,” he replies sternly. “That you blame her for what happened to Prim.”

“I don’t blame her, not exclusively,” I mumble to the table. “I just thought I could count on her to protect her. Like I said I’d protect Finnick.” That drink is sounding more and more ideal. “Really, it was my responsibility to protect Prim. Always was, and I handed it over to a drug-addicted psycho murderer. What did I expect?”

“So if you blame yourself, why are you taking it out on her?” Haymitch demands. “Are you just punishing her to punish yourself?” When I only stare blankly, he continues, “Do you even know what that girl has been through?”

“Of course I do!” I snap. “Forgive me if her mental state is not my biggest priority right now. Think about what I’ve been through.” His tiny head shake and drooping shoulders only aggravate my hostility. “Oh, what?” I scoff. “Are you going to say I don’t deserve her either?”

“You two deserve each other, on so many levels,” he retorts. “What I was going to say is I warned you about this.” He tilts his head patronizingly. “Did it even occur to you that I told you not to toy with her to protect her as well as you?”

I blink dumbly. No, not really. “I didn’t think you cared about Johanna.”

“I’ve watched as Snow did to her what he did to me, destroyed every single thing she loved,” he spells out. “How could I not feel for her?” When I don’t answer, he sighs and knocks back his drink. Wiping his mouth as he looks me over, he advises me, “Look, if it’s over between you two, it’s over. But talk to her about it, explain yourself. You love her, and you don’t want to put her through this.”

My eyes fall to the table before I answer in a gravelly whisper. “Prim is the only person I loved.”

“You’re lying,” he counters absolutely. I can’t help but blink back up. “Most of the victors are dead, you know. Killed by one side or the other,” he informs me. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but we’re the lucky ones. We actually have a chance to make a new life. So don’t waste it.” I’m just releasing a cynical little snort when I hear the bathroom door open behind me. Paying no attention to the intrusion, Haymitch narrows his eyes peevishly. “Would Finnick be moping around like this if he were here?”

“Finnick had Annie,” I argue.

“Yes, Finnick had that one person he truly connected with, who made him feel whole, despite all he’d been through,” my mentor elaborates. His eyes flit to the woman coming up behind me before settling on me again. A head shake accompanies his sarcastic barb, “It’s a shame you don’t have somebody like that.”

His words are still sinking in when I feel Effie’s hand on my upper arm. “Hello, Katniss,” she says genially, though her surprise is evident.

“Hey, Effie,” I reply, managing a small smile.

“It’s good to see you, dear,” she replies earnestly, taking a few steps to rest her hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?” she asks no one in particular.

“I saw President Snow.” My blank tone causes the desired effect, crinkling her face with concern. “He’s still alive, don’t worry,” I say, waving her off. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the show.”

“Oh,” she laughs, masking what appears to be actual relief. “Plutarch will be happy to hear that. Who knows how he would’ve had to spin that story to keep you out of trouble.”

Admittedly, I hadn’t even thought of that. Even if I’d just gouged Snow’s eyes out and relieved him of a few of his fingers, that would have caused a stir. Paylor probably shouldn’t have let a mentally disoriented individual like me anywhere near him prior to the set execution.

“You’d better get some rest, Katniss,” Effie suggests brightly. “Tomorrow is going to be another big, big, big day.” It crosses my mind that she may be trying to kick me out so that she can have her way with Haymitch, and that’s plenty enough motivation to leave. But I can’t get that rest they both suggested. My sleep is shallow and spotty, troubled by my encounter in the greenhouse and the questions it raised. Haymitch was right. I am driving myself insane. Relatively speaking, anyway.

In the morning, my bedraggled prep team arrives to remake me to Beauty Base Zero. It’s an impossible task, what with my fire-mutt body and its bizarre patchwork of new and old skin. Parts of my hair were singed off completely; the rest has been chopped off at odd lengths. Flavius performs some beauty miracle on it, managing to even out the front while getting some of the longer locks to hide the bald spots in the back. My face, since it was spared from the flames, presents no more than the usual challenges. Once I'm in Cinna’s Mockingjay suit, the only scars visible are on my neck, forearms, and hands. Octavia secures my Mockingjay pin over my heart and we step back to look in the mirror. I can't believe how normal they’ve made me look on the outside when inwardly I’m such a wasteland.

There’s a tap at the door and an unexpected visitor steps in. He’s back. Not that it should be a surprise. He wouldn't miss this. “Can I have a minute?” Gale asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other’s reflection. I’m searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I’m wondering what would have become of them had Effie picked another piece of paper on that fateful day a year and a half ago. If, even without the war, both would have turned so dark and lost their way. To their own souls. To each other.

“I brought you this.” Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. “It’s supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war.”

“What if I miss?” I wisecrack. “Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?”

“You won't miss.” Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder.

We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other’s eyes. “You didn’t come see me in the hospital.” He doesn't reply, so finally I just say it. “Was it your bomb?”

“I don’t know. Neither does Beetee,” he answers. “Does it matter? You’ll always be thinking about it.”

He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it’s true. Haymitch is right. We’ll probably never know for sure who was manning that craft. The question and the visions kept me up most of the night, and they undoubtedly will for however many more nights I stay on this earth. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.

“That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family,” he says. “Shoot straight, okay?” He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I’ll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn't the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can’t, I’ll just have to deal with the pain.

Effie comes in to usher me to some kind of meeting. I collect my bow and at the last minute remember the rose, glistening in its glass of water. When I open the door to the bathroom, I find my prep team sitting in a row on the edge of the tub, hunched and defeated. I remember I’m not the only one whose world has been stripped away. “Come on,” I tell them. “We’ve got an audience waiting.”

I’m expecting a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs me where to stand and gives me my cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where six people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well. “What's this?” I say.

“We're not sure,” Haymitch answers. “It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors.”

“You don’t say,” I remark dryly. My eyes are unconsciously drawn toward Johanna, as they always have been. After weeks on end of not seeing her, she’s as magnetizing as ever, even fully clothed. When she catches me staring, as usual, she doesn’t give me that smug little smirk I loathe. She just rolls her eyes and averts them with some cross between a scoff and a snort. A deep pang resounds in my gut, and suddenly I find myself wishing for the smirk.

“All here? Perfect,” remarks Coin as she enters behind me. Closing the door, she adds, “Sit down, please Katniss.” I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow's rose on the table.

As usual, Coin gets right to the point. “I've asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this.”

My eyes drift across the table to where Jo is slouching in her chair, fiddling disinterestedly. Seemingly feeling my eyes on her, she flits hers up to meet them. This time, she lifts an eyebrow and holds my gaze, stubbornly so. I can’t pinpoint the emotion in those striking brown orbs nor bear to keep looking, so I return my attention to Coin, surrendering the battle of wills. I won at the wedding. She can win this one.

“So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote,” says Coin. “What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power.”

All seven of us turn to her, stunned. Then a familiar piercing cackle breaks the silence. “Are you fucking kidding?” Johanna chirps.

“No,” Coin answers, utterly unaffected. “I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security.”

“Was this Plutarch’s idea?” asks Haymitch.

“It was mine,” replies Coin. “It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life.” My eyes involuntarily dart back to Haymitch, who shoots me a knowing glance and a wry chuckle. There really is a logical explanation for everything. “You may cast your votes.”

“No!” Peeta bursts out. “I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!”

“Why not?” Johanna retorts. “It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes.”

“So do I,” says Enobaria, almost indifferently. “Let them have a taste of their own medicine.”

“This is why we rebelled! Remember?” Peeta looks at the rest of us. “Annie?”

“I vote no with Peeta,” she says. “So would Finnick if he were here.”

“But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him,” Johanna reminds her. Her eyes stray briefly over to me before returning to Annie as she corrects herself, “Indirectly, anyway.”

An incredulous scoff leaves my lips. “That is so unfair, Johanna. ”

“Oh, and the things you blame me for are fair?” she shoots back.

“Can we please return to the topic at hand?” interjects Coin. “The crowd is waiting.”

“Are you announcing this right now?” asks Beetee, peering curiously at her through his glasses while I level a smoldering glare at Johanna. “Should our consensus be yes, that is?”

“No,” Coin clarifies. “The execution is slated to begin shortly. After that, we would allow everyone a chance to disperse and calm down before making the announcement. We’d have to be prepared for the possibility of riots, as well. Either side, or both sides, may be unhappy. All things considered, we would likely announce it within the next few days. If the motion were voted down, on the other hand, my colleagues and I would need more time to resume our discussions and consider other options.”

“Good,” Beetee replies simply, in the midst of cleaning his glasses on his shirttail. He pops them back on his face and expounds, “I was concerned the crowd may take things into their own hands. There are many Capitol citizens in attendance, too. Several of them are even our friends.” 

Cressida, Pollux. They would probably be spared in light of their obvious dedication to the rebel cause, should the committee settle on a genocide measure. But they are not the only ones. Effie and the prep team were kidnapped and held in Thirteen. Would they be considered members of the resistance if they did not willingly join it?

“I’m glad to hear we’re in one accord, Mr. Latier,” Coin tells him, though her tone suggests she doesn’t actually give a shit. But to be fair, she usually sounds like that. “Now, your vote?”

“No,” he says. “It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No.”

“We're down to Katniss and Haymitch,” says Coin.

Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts’ children? The scent of Snow’s rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.

I weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, “I vote yes… for Prim.”

A snort followed by a high chuckle catches my attention from across the table. Jo stares at me in disbelief, paying no heed to my warning glare. “For Prim?” she parrots. Her mocking tone falters a little when she demands, “Really?”

My gaze returns to the flower blooming in the water, and I coldly assert, “You don’t get to talk about Prim.”

Jo scoffs loudly, disbelievingly. “Fuck you, Katniss!” Despite my anger, I can’t help lifting my gaze again to take in her incensed expression, my own eyes burning with unspent emotion. “Look, I am sorry about what happened to your sister, okay?” The rawness in her voice in that last sentence tells me she means it, despite the snarky tone. “But I knew her too, and I know that she would not want this.” Jo takes a long look at me and then blinks away, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t want any of this.”

“You voted yes,” I parry with narrowed eyes.

“And I can at least admit that it's because I want to see Snow and his people pay for what they did to me,” she retorts, pointing a self-righteous finger at her own chest. "Vengeance for my own suffering."

“But it's not them paying, Johanna,” Peeta appeals gently. “It’s their children. Do you really think that’s right?”

“No,” she answers immediately. “But I think it's fair.” At his unimpressed sigh, she tilts her head. “Have you forgotten the things they did to us in the Training Center, mutt boy?” she asks, pitch heightened again as she leans in challengingly. “How both our families died in fires they started?”

“I haven’t!” he snaps, while I wince at the visual that brought to my mind, yet again. My stomach curdles as he argues, “But someone has to end the cycle of vengeance. Beetee was wrong - this isn’t a precedent. This is a cowardly perpetuation. Someone has to stand up and say that this is wrong, and it needs to stop.” Peeta expands his sights, taking in all of us. “Shouldn’t that be us?” he petitions. “Aren’t we better than this?” Finally, he turns to me. “Katniss?”

The boy always knew how to move an audience. But his last question has already been answered with a resounding no. I can tell myself this solution is to spare lives, but there’s always another way. To protect my friends and other innocents, but we’re long past the point where that matters. You can’t protect everyone in an arena. That flash of fire has only intensified what I know deep down is driving my choices. A petty need for vengeance. I’m not the better person. I’m tired of trying to be.

“I vote yes,” I declare, looking Peeta straight in the eyes. “For me.”

The look on his face, I remember it distinctly from when I was scooping the last of the berries laced with sleep syrup down his throat. It says what I’ve done is unforgivable. He’ll probably never see me the same after this. But he should have seen me for what I was a long time ago.

A furious Peeta hammers our mentor with the atrocity he could become party to with his deciding vote, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me.

“I’m with the Mockingjay,” he says.

“Excellent. That carries the vote,” announces Coin. “Now we really must take our places for the execution.”

As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. “Can you see that Snow’s wearing this? Just over his heart?”

Coin smiles. “Of course. And I’ll make sure he knows about the Games.”

“Thank you,” I say.

People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I’m guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spilling people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He’s not going anywhere. There’s nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He’s ten yards away.

I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there’s only the same look of amusement from the last time he spoke to me. It’s as if he’s saying the words again. “Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

He’s right. We did. And if all I cared about was who dropped the bombs, I’d be sniping Coin down from the balcony right now. Because he’s dying either way and, truth be told, I think I believe him. But as much as I’ve tried not to care about anything, or anyone, there’s still someone alive who makes me want to live. And shooting Coin, that would spell my certain death. Besides, how could I let my final action be one more act of betrayal? Peering over my left shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Johanna standing beside Peeta in the low, bright winter sun. Holding my gaze steadily, she gives me the slightest nod, one I return.

Refocusing on Snow, I pull my bowstring tighter. Even if he did not drop the bombs, it was his fucking arena. He is still the enemy. And the last thing he’ll witness is me proving him wrong. I release the string, and watch as my arrow skewers him through the heart, spatters snake blood all over his perfect white rose.

I can keep my promises, after all.

***

Slumped back against the side of my bed, I stare at my scarred hands, now devoid of any weapons. My bow sits on a table by the door, precisely where I left it before shakily lowering myself to my current position on the floor. Someone took the empty sheath when I came back inside after shooting Snow. It’s over. Coriolanus Snow is dead, at my hands. I’ve finally achieved what I’ve spent much of the past year daydreaming and scheming about. And now I’m not sure what to do with myself.

There's no obstacle now to taking my life, popping the purple pill that sits in a hidden pocket atop my collarbone. But I seem to be waiting for something. I’ve been waiting for hours, and my butt has grown as numb as my mind. I guess I should feel some kind of closure, relief, satisfaction. I feel none of those things. Probably because President Snow called into question who was responsible for the parachutes. He’d love that, knowing that he denied me the satisfaction of avenging my sister’s death. It’s like I can still hear his mocking laugh, still smell his roses. Actually, I _can_ still smell the roses, thanks to the one I let bloom overnight in the bathroom. I turn the fan on and flee the room.

Pacing the halls with no real destination, I work the blood back into my legs and let my thoughts run amok. Maybe the reason I feel so little is because it really was meaningless after all. Just one more death on top of all the others. It doesn’t heal my wounds or recover my steep losses. It doesn’t bring back Prim. A sharp pain in my chest tells me that that’s probably another reason why. Prim would not have stopped me from executing Snow, but it would have meant nothing to her. And she would absolutely not support vengeance in her name. Especially in the form of retribution against innocents. The retribution I voted for. Johanna was right. Prim wouldn’t want any of this. For me to vote that way, for us to even be discussing it, for-

I halt midstep, nearly stumbling over my own feet as I’m struck by the memory of Jo’s face when she said those words, the way she looked at me directly before. She wasn’t just talking about revenge. Prim wouldn’t want us to fight. Prim wouldn’t want me to push Johanna away or blame her for what happened. Her frustrated rant from the dining hall rings in my ears. “You’re friends, not enemies, okay? You two like each other, so can you please stop being stupid and just act like it?”

Before I’ve even realized it, my feet have changed course and are hurrying back to the victors’ quarters. To the door two down and across from mine. My fist raps urgently on the wood, incognizant of the consequences. It’s only once I hear the squeak of a body vacating the mattress that the panic hits me like a truck. What am I even going to say to her? I don’t have a chance to think about it, because she’s already opening the door. I can only imagine the look of prey on my face as our eyes meet. Johanna, ever the predator, gets off on it.

“Well, look who it is,” she remarks, a giant smirk splitting her face. Stepping out of the room and into my personal space, she pulls the door shut behind her, crosses her arms. “What ever have I done to be graced with the presence of the almighty Mockingjay?”

It’s the implied unfamiliarity, rather than her scathingly sarcastic tone, that makes these words lodge deep in my chest. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I form a weak reply. “I’m sorry.”

Really, what else is there to say? I’m sorry I left you behind, again. I’m sorry I dragged your best friend to his death. I’m sorry for pushing you away when we needed each other most. I hope my simple offering encompasses all of that without spelling it out in painful detail. Yes, simple is best. Which is good, because that’s all I can muster.

Jo, for her part, gives a simple reply. “Of course you are.” Her eyes narrow a touch despite the indifference in her voice. I’m only slightly deterred. I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I came here, but it included some amount of resistance, and certainly sass.

I tilt my head a little to see past her, though all I can see is door anyway. My eyes flick up intently. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

My eyebrows arch as I purse my lips and bounce my eyes away. Well, that settles that. It takes a couple seconds for the weight of that simple, unequivocal statement to catch up to me, making my eyes prickle and my throat start to close the way it does when I get upset. Fearing I might pass out on the spot, I take a moment to steady myself physically before catching her eye again, more pleadingly this time. My voice threatens to crack the instant I open my mouth, so I have to swallow hard before I can even use it.

“Can we talk, at least?” My voice breaks halfway through the appeal, despite my effort. My eyes automatically drop when it does, but I force them back up immediately. Johanna has to flick hers away, but I see the pain in them before she does. A heavy breath helps her straighten up, set her jaw, before she dares to look at me again. Her gaze is not aggressive, or even angry. Nor is it sad. Empty, perhaps, or resigned. Similar to how I felt with Gale earlier. Have we also lost our way to each other? Her silence is her answer. To my spoken question, at least.

Knowing I deserve this, I don’t protest. I just give her a silent, deferential nod before turning and woozily retreating down the hallway. Didn’t I fear this was how she would treat me, after Finnick’s death? Yet as it turns out, I was the one to place blame and push her away, to purposely torch our relationship. She’s merely returning the favor. I’ve been hypocritical, selfish, and I’ve brought this suffering upon myself. What else is new?

Loathing returning to my room alone, I knock on Haymitch’s door instead. There’s a slight pause before he calls out, “Yes?”

“Haymitch, it’s me,” I say, resting my head against the door.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

I gratefully push into the room, but falter when I notice Beetee sitting in the chair across from Haymitch. The burdens weighing on me must show in my demeanor, because the inventor only observes me for a few seconds before turning back to Haymitch and suggesting, “We’ll talk later, okay?” Upon receiving a nod of agreement, he laboriously pushes himself to his feet and hobbles toward the door.

“Where’s your chair?” I inquire.

“I’m trying to get used to walking again,” he explains. “Doctors say I’ll completely lose the use of my legs if I don’t start using them.”

“Doctors are telling me all kinds of bullshit these days too.” This makes him chuckle, and I manage a small smile. But by the time he’s out the door, it’s fallen flat. My gaze settles on Haymitch, and we just stare at each other silently. With a resigned sigh, I push the door shut and tread over to the table, sinking down into the seat Beetee just vacated. I can’t talk to Haymitch about Jo, not now. He’d just take the opportunity to point out how he told me so. Instead, I tell him the other thing that’s been on my mind since I aimed that arrow early this afternoon.

“We need to kill President Coin.”

One of his eyebrows peaks high on his forehead. “You’re mad, girl.”

“I think the term is ‘mentally disoriented,’” I deadpan. My eyes migrate to the ceiling as another thought occurs to me. “I wonder if that could get me out of it. Being a head case.” A deranged chuckle pops out of my throat. “Maybe we should sic Peeta on her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chastises me. “Do you want to throw the whole country into turmoil again? You’re just a prolific shit disturber, aren’t you?”

“Haymitch,” I insist. “She’s no better than any president before her. Nothing’s going to change under her, only who the victims are.”

“Victims? You voted yes, as I recall.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” I admit, involuntarily dropping my gaze to the table. “But at that point, it all seemed pretty hopeless either way.” Catching his eye again, I explain, “It’s not whether or not the Games will happen. It’s that she suggested it.”

Another knock sounds on the door before he can reply, a louder one. Haymitch rolls his eyes and mutters, “What now?” before calling, “Come in!” I don’t know who I was expecting, but I’m surprised when it’s Peeta who storms through the door. Still on the warpath, no doubt. He stops short when he sees me, and we share a distrustful stare. “Oh, joy,” Haymitch drawls. “Both of you at once.” I can only release an uneasy breath once he’s recaptured Peeta’s attention. “What can I do for you, boy?”

The beleaguered blonde takes a long, hard look at both of us before demanding, “How do you feel about yourselves?” With that, he launches into a fierce diatribe, petitioning Haymitch to change his vote using guilt, logic, whatever he can. Peeta doesn’t even try to change my mind. He sees me for the lost cause that I am. Finally. “It’s not too late,” he says.

“It is too late. Maybe I’m having some second thoughts, but Coin’s not going to let anyone change their vote,” Haymitch states. “She’s probably already set the thing in motion.”

“Maybe not,” Peeta argues. “And even if she has, they still haven’t announced it. They can back out, if they want.”

“They don’t want. Coin suggested it, remember?”

“Haymitch, please,” he begs. “I’m pretty sure she’s staying in Snow’s grand guest quarters, on the other side of the mansion. Let’s just go talk to her right now, see if she’ll consider it. It’ll take twenty minutes, tops.” Maybe he sees a crack in our mentor’s demeanor, because he pushes harder. “Just ask for more time to decide. It’s not like any of us had much time to think about it.”

“Okay, fine,” Haymitch scowls, reluctantly getting to his feet. “Lead the way, then.”

Peeta leaves without looking back, a grouchy Haymitch on his tail. Still not wanting to return to my room, I slump forward to rest my crossed arms on the table, my head atop them. Peeta must really put up a fight, because it’s at least half an hour before I hear a door slam down the hallway, followed shortly by Haymitch’s return.

“Didn’t go so well?” I postulate.

He shakes his head. “Coin said all votes are final, as I expected. The boy’s furious, of course.” There’s a slight flicker of something - regret, maybe, or concern - in his eyes. “They’re announcing it tomorrow.”

***

My dreams that night are filled with screaming, dying children, but it’s my own bloodcurdling screams that jerk me into waking. Covered in sweat, I twist the sheets in my grip as my eyes jump around wildly in the darkness, searching for the threat. Remembering that the threat has supposedly been extinguished only makes me shake more. I’ve slayed Snow, but I haven’t slayed the demon. No, now the demon lives inside me. Turning on my side, I huddle under the blankets, clutching them and trying to subdue my residual whimpers.

The quiet sound of my doorknob clicking and turning makes me startle disproportionately, and I whip my head around to peek over my shoulder with huge eyes. I can’t help but anticipate an attack. Anyone who would have come to my aid in earlier times is now unspeakably angry with me. My unfocused eyes try to identify the silhouette as the intruder closes the door behind itself, but it’s my hyperalert ears that make the discovery. Light, almost silent treads suggest a small individual to begin with, but I recognize these steps from my time in the Block and hunting outside of Thirteen.

Johanna’s a few feet from the bed before I can finally make out her outline in the darkness. The adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream causes me to flinch at the sight, despite her nonaggressive posture. She must be able to see, hear, even smell my fear. I’m so fucking pathetic. I just cower there as Johanna leans down and rests her hands on the edge of the mattress.

“You're waking up the whole wing, brainless,” she says flatly, a tinge of annoyance in her tone. My mouth moves a little, but no words come out. Do I apologize? Sass her? Ask her to stay? Oh, god, how I want to beg her to stay.

I’m gulping and still trying to produce a response when she draws back the covers. Relief floods my body as she crawls in behind me, adjusts the blankets on top of us. She leaves space between us, but rests a grounding hand on my ribcage. It’s something. A sign she’s here for me, no matter what. Like I should have been for her.

I clear the phlegm from my throat and finally find words. “Jo, I really am s-”

“Shh,” she interrupts. “Not now.”

“But-” Johanna has put a finger to my lips before I can get any farther.

“No,” she maintains firmly. “Shut up and sleep.” On that note, she slithers closer and encircles me from behind. As her limbs slip around my body, a shaky breath and a shudder leave it. She pulls me closer and shushes me almost silently, then drops her face to leave a gentle kiss on the back of my neck.

Lying there with her, emotions start to overtake my bodily reactions, though my mind is still relegated to observing numbly. Relief, yes, but also regret. And remembering the last time we did this, that doesn't help. My eyes sting as badly as my throat aches, but still produce no tears. My lungs clench with sobs that won't come, filling my body back up with tension.

Jo sleepily rubs my arm with soothing pressure, but I don’t feel very soothed until I sneak my hand back so she's cupping it with hers. Even then, it's still touch and go. So is my sleep. My troubled slumber is permeated by sirens and scenes of panic. Running to the mine with Prim, searching for Mom the day of the explosion. Gale falling on top of me, protecting me from flying shrapnel during the air raid in Eight. When I come to in the dim light of dawn, I’m shivering despite Johanna’s warmth, far from rested.

Animated voices across the hall catch my attention, and I lift my head so I can peer at the door. Likely what roused me in the first place, they only seem to be getting louder. I’m considering waking Jo when my door bursts open with a bang and her eyes fly open anyway. She flips over, already in full fighting mode, while I roll onto my back to get a better view of whoever has intruded upon us. It’s Haymitch, slowing his steps as he sees both of us.

“Wondered where you were,” he directs at Johanna, sighing with relief.

“So you’re breaking into everyone’s rooms, are you?” she retorts. “What the fuck, Haymitch?”

A smirk overcomes his face as his eyes flick between us. “My apologies. Am I interrupting something?”

“Fuck off, the kid was having nightmares,” Johanna grumbles, wiping her eyes.

His eyebrows arch. “So you've been here all night?” He nods at me. “With her?”

“Hi, Haymitch, I’m right here,” I scowl.

“Yes, glad to see you,” he says. “I thought you’d really gone off the deep end this time.”

Johanna’s waning patience is clear in her tone. “What are you talking about?”

“Turn on the TV.”

While Johanna fumbles for the remote on my bedside table, I try to tune into the remaining voices coming from Haymitch’s room. I don’t catch many words, but I recognize their speakers as Peeta and Beetee. I guess Effie didn’t spend the night. She’s never one to sit quietly through a conversation.

“Holy shit,” pronounces Jo.

I flick my eyes over to the TV just as she unmutes the coverage. First I see fire crews poking at charred rubble, then the headline blazoned across the bottom third of the screen. “Fire in the Presidential Mansion.” The sirens were real, I realize as I blink the sleep from my eyes and sit up. Then the scrolling news ticker catches my attention, and the first words I read make my eyes grow huge.

One confirmed fatality: President Alma Coin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, 3 months is definitely the longest I've ever taken to update, and I apologize for the wait. Unfortunately, while the lack of Joniss in MJ2 inspired some to fill in the blanks, it did the opposite for me, and gave me no inclination to stop my work on Loyalty to return to this fic. At least there has been lots of other Joniss popping up for us to read in the meantime.
> 
> As mentioned, there's been numerous updates on Loyalty lately. I don't know which fic I will update next, and my time is limited because I just got a promotion at work and have been spending time writing and performing stand up comedy, plus so many shows are coming back this time of year. That being said, I'm excited for where both fics are going at this point. And for those who have been asking, yes I am still working on But I'm a Lumberjack. The next chapter is over halfway done, it's just that I'm rarely motivated to write it because it's not my usual style. But it is a lot of fun when I get into it.
> 
> Thanks to D7P for helping me craft this chapter by engaging in numerous productive arguments with me. What else is new? A better beta, I could not ask for.


	20. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all will be happy to hear that this is all original content, save for a reincarnation of one of my favorite scenes in the series. Fresh stories, fresh perspectives. In canon, we never got to see the aftermath of the vote, which was a real shame.

Coverage of the timely blaze continues throughout the morning, and my attention rarely leaves it. The remaining victors hunker down in Haymitch’s room and crowd around his TV - with the notable exception of Enobaria, who seems to have fucked off to god knows where, which is fine by me. The six of us exchange few words but several suspicious glances over those long hours. Depending on how you look at it, most if not all of us had some amount of motive to kill Coin. Then again, so did a lot of people not in this room. Of course, there’s always the chance it was truly an accident. Just like there’s a chance President Coin had a soul.

Personally, my money’s on Peeta. He could have gone berserk and torched the place in a fit of anger and desperation. Even in his right mind, he could have reasoned that killing one woman was worth saving the lives of innocents or keeping the new regime from starting off on the wrong foot. The Peeta I knew and loved wouldn’t do that, but he’s been through a lot. We all have.

Haymitch sits beside me, watching stony-faced as the fire chief fields questions from a Panem TV reporter. President Coin succumbed to smoke before it was detected by a fire alarm in one of the corridors of the presidential wing just after 3 AM. She was pronounced dead at the scene. The failure of the smoke detectors in the grand guest quarters has been attributed to dead batteries that hadn’t been checked since the Capitol fell and Coin moved in. It’s too early to determine if foul play was involved.

At this latest answer, Haymitch snorts. “If?”

“It’s not like the fire people knew Coin’s plan,” Johanna remarks from her perch on the bed. Sweeping her gaze around the room, she posits, “Wasn’t that the point, to kill her before she could announce it, hope it died with her?” She says that with such confidence that I’m left staring and wondering if she’s admitting her own involvement. Jo always has been the type to say what everyone else won’t. But she voted yes, so the Games wouldn’t have been her motive. The Block would’ve. I’m still trying to piece this out when she tacks on with a smirk, “Whoever it was, you could have at least let me in on it.”

I snort and her eyes flash my way, a smug smile gracing her lips. That look takes me back to the Quell, when she said whoever was still alive at breakfast could fight over the last of our bread. I was the only one who laughed then, too. But this time her pleased expression quickly fades to a cold gaze, then she pointedly redirects her eyes to the TV. Shifting in my seat, I drop my eyes to the floor. I guess her holding me last night doesn’t mean things are okay between us. That was a little too much to wish for.

“Why would you care?” pipes up Peeta. “You wanted the Games. You both did.” He throws me only a cursory glance, focusing most of his attention on Johanna. “What’d you have against Coin?”

“Seriously?” Jo spouts. “She put me back in the hospital with her fucking Block test. Purposely made me lose my shit so she wouldn’t have to send me. Tried to do the same thing to Katniss, too.” Her eyes narrow as she examines the brainwashed blonde. “I’ll bet your test was all sunshine and roses in comparison, because you should have been way easier to set off.”

“It wasn’t hard, no,” he admits.

“And that’s the other thing,” she snaps. “Why do you think you got off so easy? Coin sent you here hoping you’d kill Katniss.” Jo snorts. “Even more reason to want to see her in the ground.”

Peeta squints testily at her. “Yeah, again, what do you care?” A flash of hurt shows in Johanna’s already irked expression as her eyes briefly flick my way. “You threatened to do it yourself enough times in the Quell.”

“In the Quell, all any of us cared about was keeping the lovebirds safe,” retorts Johanna. “I protected Katniss with my life and got thanked with six weeks in Snow’s basement funhouse. Then Coin turned around and put her in danger again like all that meant nothing. Of course I despised her, and you should have too after what she did to you.”

“You don’t care about me,” scoffs Peeta. “You don’t care about anyone.”

“Hey now,” Haymitch intervenes, glancing between them nervously. “Let’s not lose our heads.” But he’s too late. Johanna is already sitting up stiffly, eyes on fire.

“Don’t pretend like you know me, you self-righteous little prick,” she spits. “I couldn’t afford to care before. But we’ve all changed a lot since the Quell, haven’t we, mutt boy?” No one else dares speak as she deliberately gets to her feet. “You think you know everything, don’t you? You’re in for a real surprise.”

The searing truth of that statement makes me wince. No one’s told Peeta about Jo and me because we’re all afraid he’ll go off the deep end again. I’ve also been afraid he’d never speak to me again, but the vote seems to have taken care of that anyway. Another reason to hate Coin. His ignorance is probably at least part of why Johanna’s so pissed, but surely she understands there hasn’t been a good opportunity to bring it up.

“Whenever they figure out who did it, let me know,” she adds from the doorway. “I’d like to know where to send the fruit basket.”

The tension in the room doesn’t break when the door slams behind her, but at least I can breathe again. Crossing my arms, I level a flaming glare at Peeta but say nothing, preferring to stew in silence. The boy deflects his eyes from my contemptuous gaze and pretends to resume watching TV, shaking his head with an inward chuckle. Johanna’s latest assessment of him seems pretty accurate to me.

“Well,” Haymitch begins, standing and stretching, “I hate to break up this delightful little party, but I promised I'd meet Effie for lunch at her building. Somehow, it’s still standing.”

“How’s she holding up?” questions Beetee, laboriously rising from his chair behind us. I almost forgot he was here. Annie’s hardly said a word all morning either, but she’s more conspicuous, seated beside Peeta. Team crazy in the far corner.

“You might say she’s a little shocked,” chuckles Haymitch. “She’ll be fine once she has a glass or ten of wine.”

We all vacate the room with little chatter, the vicious argument still hanging heavy in the air. It’s sapped my interest in the emergency broadcast, so I get no further than turning my doorknob before abandoning my plans to watch it. Instead, I turn my head and watch as Peeta walks away, enters his own room. The second his door closes, my feet unfreeze and I find myself storming down the hall in his wake. Bursting through his door without knocking, I throw it shut behind me and stalk up to the boy now eyeing me warily.

“Was that really fucking necessary?” I steam.

“What?” he balks, but I think he knows perfectly well what I mean.

“You didn’t have to be such a bitch to Johanna. If you’re mad about the vote, take it out on me. I’m the one you’re really mad at.” His eyebrows twitch but he’s otherwise infuriatingly unresponsive, eyes on the TV he’s turned on. Snatching the remote, I flick the set back off and toss the remote on his bed. “Oh, right. To do that, you’d have to actually look at me.”

Peeta folds his arms with a weary sigh, now intently holding my gaze. His nostrils flare a little bit as his clouds over with disappointment. “Fine,” he acquiesces blandly. Tossing a hand dramatically, he demands, “Is this what you wanted?”

We stand there for several long moments, neither backing down. I’m the one to finally break eye contact, shaking my head in a feeble attempt to regain control of myself. The flash of anger quickly dissipates and gives way to the numbness that’s been muffling my world since the bombing. But Peeta does not deserve to be let off the hook any more than I do. Straightening up to mirror his posture, I level my next loaded question at him. “Was it you?”

His thinly veiled disgust blinks away into surprise. “How can you ask me that?”

“You were so angry.” I swallow as another awkward faceoff pops into my memory. “And you were desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things.”

“I’m not the murderer here, Katniss,” snarks Peeta. My gut lurches. “How do I know it wasn’t you?”

“Did you hear me screaming last night, around 12:30?” I’m not sure what answer I want to hear, but I feel a stab under my ribs when he nods. I try not to let it show. “I was with Johanna after that. Ask her.”

“Surprised your bunk buddy would come comfort you after you were at each other’s throats like that,” he remarks.

“You’d be surprised by a lot of things, Peeta,” I retort flatly. His head tips the slightest bit, and I make the snap decision to help him out. So what if he loses it? I’ve already lost him. “A lot about us, in particular.”

“About who?” squints Peeta.

“Johanna and I,” I spell out impatiently. God, why is that concept so hard for people to grasp? It’s been a long time since she threatened to rip my throat out on national television. Or at least it feels like lifetimes ago.

Peeta’s eyes slowly bulge. “Her?” he infers. “That’s why you said things had changed? You and her?” When I don’t deny it, he lets loose a dark chuckle. “Well, that’s quite the upgrade.”

I feel my face flushing as my fists and shoulders clench with another disorienting burst of emotion. “Go to hell, Peeta. If you don’t want me, then what the fuck do you care about my love life?”

“Who says I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone and expression genuine. “You’re the one who said it was over.”

“You can’t even look at me!” I shout. Narrowing my eyes, I taunt him, “Don’t like what you see? Have the blinders finally come off?”

Peeta levels a judgemental gaze at me, with a head tilt to top it off. He’s been spending too much time with Jo. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“No, but at least I know who I am,” I snap. “I’m done pretending to be a hero.”

Smirking at the ground, he surmises, “So you like Johanna because she doesn’t care if you’re a good person?”

“You don’t care if I’m a good person either, just if you can see me as one,” I argue. “But I guess we’re past that point now, aren’t we?” Before he can respond, I press on, “At least Johanna acknowledges that I have flaws. And no, if anything, it makes me want to improve myself.”

“So you’d have been happier with me if I criticized you?” he reasons with puzzled eyes.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” I admit. “But my perspective’s changed.” He raises an eyebrow and my shoulders shrug to my ears as I self-consciously cross my arms again. “I liked you because you made me feel better. About the world, about myself. As soon as you saw the evil in me, I hated you for it,” I confess. “But I shouldn’t have. If anything, I should have hated you for loving a version of me that didn’t exist.”

“It existed.” Peering closely at me, he says, “It still does, somewhere inside of you.”

“It was all in your head.”

“No, it wasn’t,” insists Peeta. “You weren’t always like this. The world’s turned you into something you’re not, like the hijacking did to me.” Inching closer, he rests a hesitant hand on my upper arm. “That’s why your vote made me so angry. I truly believe that you’re better than this, Katniss. I don’t want you turning into a bad person because you already believe you are one.”

“Well then why do you keep making me feel like one?” I grouse. At his confused blink, I explain, “Even before, you made me feel like a terrible person by being so morally superior all the time.”

“Another reason to prefer Johanna,” he smirks. But this time it’s a teasing one.

“Hilarious,” I drawl with an eye roll, though I secretly appreciate the comic relief. “But I’m serious. Haymitch always told me how I don’t deserve you, how you’re so much better than me. Maybe it got to my head.”

“Haymitch is an idiot,” declares Peeta. “You don’t deserve happiness any less than I do. You could have anyone you want.” His half-hearted smile eats at me, pushes my eyes away.

“I just want Prim,” I say to the carpet. A dull pain swells in my side. “I want her back.”

Peeta’s thumb caresses my shoulder and he gives it a sympathetic squeeze. “I don’t think I’ve told you how sorry I am,” he offers gently. “I know she was everything to you.”

Eyes prickling, I blink up to find him hesitantly opening his arms like he did before we parted at the fur shop. I willingly step into the hug, like I did then, but I don’t draw the same warmth from his arms. Maybe it’s the cold shoulder he’s been giving me, the lingering stiffness of his posture and embrace. Maybe it’s just because I’m numb. I don’t think it’s Johanna. I think it’s just life.

Fingers grazing the back of my neck, Peeta murmurs, “I hope you find yourself, Katniss.” My grip on him, on all we were, tightens futilely.

“I hope so too.”

***

I don’t sleep that night. I can’t sleep. Not with the havoc my racing thoughts are wreaking on my mind and body. What if my fire alarm is also toast? There’s plenty of people who’d have motive to kill me, too. God, there must be thousands. What if I’m next? What if I’m not, and I live on in misery for eternity? What if Johanna never forgives me?

I’m curled into a ball, gritting my teeth and trying to ride out the barrage of intrusive thoughts that never truly ends. Fighting off the urge to scream. Shaking in my own arms, longing for someone else’s. But I won’t be berated for being disruptive again. So I stay silent, for as long as I can stand it.

When I can no longer contain my suffering, I get to my feet before I wake up the whole wing again by screaming at my own brain to shut up. Better to just wake up one person. A rush of fear almost causes me to revert to pacing the hallways, but I steel myself and only pace as far as Johanna’s door. Hoping I don’t actually have to wake her up, I knock softly at first.

It’s all that’s needed. She answers within ten seconds, in bedclothes but seemingly alert. Her eyes widen a little at the sight of me and she steps out into the hall, closing the door behind her. She cocks her head icily. “What do you need, Everdeen?”

Biting my lip, I drag my eyes off the ground. “You.” She merely blinks. Summoning my courage and resolve, I repeat, “You, Johanna.”

Jo leans against her doorframe, sizing me up. After a long moment, she speaks. Slowly. “You know, I needed you for a long time. And you weren’t there.”

“I know,” I mumble, hanging my head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t sleep either,” she admits. I catch her gaze again and find it earnest, if a little sheepish. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left Thirteen. It was nice sleeping with Prim, but...”

“Did they-” My voice threatens to catch, forcing me to swallow hard. “Did they not give you drugs when you had to go back to the hospital?”

“They did. Not morphling, of course. I still never felt rested. Murky nightmares, constantly waking up before the drugs pulled me back down.” Pain flashes in her eyes just before they fall. “The night you were pronounced dead, I didn’t let them give me anything. I couldn’t face the nightmares of you getting blown to bits.”

If anyone understands how bad those nightmares can be, it’s me. I shift my weight, studying her reactions as I inquire, “Did you sleep okay last night?”

“Last night, I got woken up by a shrieking headcase in the middle of the night,” Jo retorts with a taunting smirk. “So, no, not exactly.”

She wants to watch me wilt before her, I can tell, so I keep standing tall. “Can I help?”

Johanna wasn’t expecting that offer, from her reaction. Her shoulders sag the slightest bit as she gathers the strength to refuse me, teeth chewing the inside of her lip. Even this crack of vulnerability breaks my heart, despite the fact that I’m trying to exploit it. “Hey,” I whisper, stepping closer to wrap her in my arms. But before my hands can reach her back, she deflects them away. Her eyes flick up sharply, and mine bounce away as I try to swallow the aching tightness suddenly afflicting my throat.

“Yeah, I’ll stay with you.” Nodding her head down the hallway, she starts off that way. I follow behind numbly.

When we reach my bed, Jo settles in a good foot away, facing away from me. It makes me long for the cramped beds of District 13 and the forced contact they beget. Eyes on her back and the door beyond, I sigh inwardly and pull my share of the covers tight around myself. This isn’t exactly what I want, but it’ll have to do.

Her presence must comfort me enough to let me sleep, because I soon find myself blinking awake to the sound of soft sobbing. A moment of indecision temporarily paralyzes me, but ultimately I can’t keep myself from her. Scooting closer, I slide my arms around her quaking midsection. She stiffens in my embrace, the opposite of what I’ve become accustomed to, but doesn’t push me away. Swiping at the tears on her face, she snuffles and stubbornly holds in any more noises.

“What’s wrong?” I murmur. When she stays silent, I stroke my thumb over her forearm in what I hope is a soothing gesture. “Hm?” Still she refuses to answer, so I try another approach, lowering my voice authoritatively. “Mason, talk to me,” I demand, squeezing her wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice is but a whisper. “Everything.”

Tilting my face down, I leave a tentative kiss in the crook of her shoulder. There’s so much lying just under her skin that I feel upon contact. The tension in her muscles. The shaky walls she’s thrown back up. Her determination to keep them intact, even for me. Especially for me. I gulp against her back, murmur into the void. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

A wry chuckle bursts from her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself, Katniss.” The rasp in her tone makes the remark a little less convincing, but still I wince. “You didn’t do it, life did. You just didn't help.”

I’m loathe to release her, to relinquish the scent of her skin and fit of our bodies that I’ve missed so much, but I think she wants me to. But as I pull back, she snatches my arm and holds it fast. She still doesn't relax in my arms, but I can relax a little knowing I'm not forcing myself upon her. I guess Jo would never tolerate that anyway. Subtle jerks convey that she’s sobbing again, though it’s all but completely silent. I cinch my arms tighter and will the pain to go away. But I know it won't.

***

Johanna squirms in my arms in the midst of a fitful slumber and I instinctively tighten them around her. Though ostensibly unconscious, she whimpers and claws at my back, burying her face in my shirt that’s still moist from another round of her tears early this morning. Her suffering is undeniable, but I envy her. I wish I could cry. Hell, I wish I could feel anything other than unpredictable and unsettling bursts of anger.

A shudder pushes its way through her body, stealing her breath and making her go rigid. Now truly scared of whatever’s going on in her head, I shake one shoulder gently and whisper her name. It takes a second, rougher shake before she jolts into consciousness, head jerking back and eyes wide as her balled fists. Firmly cupping her cheek, I assure her, “Hey, hey! You’re okay. You’re okay, Jo. You’re here with me.”

Heaving in breaths through some residual shivers, Johanna goes limp, letting her head fall to the mattress as she flops on her back. Though the loss of her contact and warmth sends an immediate stab to my gut, I take solace in how she’s still lying on one of my arms. I flex my right hand from where it’s trapped under her, fingering her shoulder. Jo doesn’t acknowledge this, but slowly tracks her eyes over to meet mine. “Thanks for waking me up,” she pants.

Stroking my fingers up and down her arm, I mumble, “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says flatly, gaze jumping to the ceiling. No doubt feeling my eyes still on her, she shrugs, “The war.”

That’s not vague at all. So many terrible things have happened since we parted in Thirteen. The least of which is not us parting in Thirteen.

“I wish I’d stayed behind, never left you,” I’m saying before I realize my mouth is moving. “They’d probably still be alive.” Jo’s eyes flick back over, narrowed but laden with surprise and a host of other emotions I can’t suss out. “And being apart from you was just…” A sudden painful lump in my throat forces me to swallow. “I never slept well either.” She doesn’t respond at all. No words, no movement, and I start panicking internally. Trying to come up with some way to bridge this divide. “Johanna, I told him.”

This finally makes her blink. “Told who what?”

“Peeta,” I clarify, trying to mask my relief. “I told him about us.”

“Us?” she repeats deliberately, turning on her side to stare me down. “So you think there’s an us?”

Somewhere inside me, I find my bravery and lift my chin stubbornly, give her a firm nod. “Always will be.”

“Says you,” she snorts. “Hypocrite. Even if there is, how do I know you’re not going to leave me again?” She doesn’t just mean the physical leaving, the pain behind her eyes spells it out for her. That was undoubtedly a lot less painful than the way I shut her out.

“You have no reason to believe I won’t,” I admit. “I swore I wouldn’t, but I did, in more ways than one.” I want to give her a reason, but they’re hard to come by. I’m a colossal fuck up. “I wanted to shoot Coin with that arrow, but I couldn’t break another promise to you,” is what I settle on. Her head tips just a little, adorably so. “I swore I’d kill him for you,” I explain. “And I… I couldn’t take away the last person you care about.” She merely blinks, and my stomach drops. I swallow hard. “Do you still care about me?”

“Of course,” she affirms impassively, waving me off. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be… the way I am.” Her facade fades as she blinks away, her next words barely audible. “Broken like this.”

“So I wasn’t flattering myself last night.” I’m expecting a warning glare, but instead she twitches her mouth lamely, still avoiding my gaze. My heart constricts inside my chest. “You don’t trust me.”

Johanna drags her eyes up my body, finally settling on mine. “How could I?”

But that night, she slips into my bed without me needing to ask, and begrudgingly ends up in my arms before long. Things continue on that way for days, us comforting each other in the dark but mostly pretending to ignore each other during the day. Conversing at times, but not about any of that again. I know not to push it. Jo holds me at a calculated distance and I reciprocate because I can’t stand the vulnerability. I actually start to look forward to nighttime, because it’s the only time she lets me touch her. Much like when we started sharing a bed in Thirteen, we don't talk about any of this. It’s just the way things are. And I don’t know how to fix it. But how could I? I couldn’t fix things with Peeta. I can’t even fix myself.

Meanwhile, more information about the blaze is released in pieces. The fire damage was mostly contained to the basement of the presidential wing, though the upper level of the grand guest quarters suffered heavy smoke damage. Obviously. When I wander to that end of the building to take a look for myself, a guard patrolling the area turns me back but answers my most pressing question. The rose garden took some smoke damage but otherwise escaped unscatched. Snow would be pleased. 

“Why would you care?” asks Jo when I bring it up. She must not have endured the same rose-scented terrorism from Snow as I did.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Maybe because I’d like to burn it down myself.” She doesn't question this.

As Coin’s lackeys prepare to give her a state funeral, an emergency election is announced and candidates start to come forward. No one who was part of the Capitol government, of course, mostly rebels who were well known in their districts. Lyme would likely have been among them, I think, had she not been assassinated by rogue loyalists just prior to the invasion. I’d think that her death would have been newsworthy, but apparently not. I guess the rebels wanted to avoid any blows to morale, and the Capitol didn’t know.

The only candidate I know is Paylor, and early public opinion polls indicate that she’s one of the frontrunners. I’m a little surprised Plutarch doesn’t put his name in, but I guess he prefers to manipulate everyone from behind the scenes.

Nearly a week after the fire, a full report is released. Foul play is not suspected, as there were no signs of arson. The fire started in the walls of the presidential wing, sparked by a faulty circuit in the basement under the grand guest quarters. Old wiring and an outdated breaker box are pinpointed as the exact cause. It’s still too coincidental for me, knowing what I know.

I corner my mentor the moment we return from observing the press conference on the steps of the mansion, following him into his room and closing the door firmly behind me. “So whose idea was it, Haymitch? Yours or Beetee’s?”

He turns around slowly, removing his jacket and eyeing me up with an irritating apathy. “It was yours, as I recall,” he remarks. “But since you were in bed with Johanna all night, it seems you have a strong alibi, sweetheart.”

“You’re not fooling me this time.” He lifts an innocent eyebrow and I shoot him a glare. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you told me I was crazy for believing there was a District Thirteen, all the while participating in a plot to get me there.”

He rolls his eyes. “There was no plot at that point, Katniss. That was before they drew the card.”

“Fine,” I grumble, “but you still let me believe that, all that time. You never told me the truth.” My eyes bore into his. “Is that too much to ask for, for once?”

“You know I kept the truth from you then to protect you,” he reminds me sharply, like I’m some ungrateful little brat. I can’t stand it.

“Yeah, that’s always your excuse,” I spout off. “Have you ever thought maybe I don’t want to be protected my whole life? Lied to my whole life? I’m an adult, Haymitch.”

“Not technically.”

My fists fly to my hips, my jaw setting. “You know, I functioned just fine without parents or your ‘mentorship’ for four years. I think I’ve earned my right to be informed of these things.” Crossing my arms, I goad him, “Come on. An electrical fire the night before Coin was going to announce the Games? That has Beetee written all over it.”

“So why are you asking me?” my mentor retorts impatiently.

“He probably would have needed help in his condition. And I saw you two talking that night. Then Peeta so conveniently showed you where Coin was sleeping.” Another piece falls into place in my mind. “And it’s only once he offered that you agreed to talk to her.”

“You’re just a regular detective, aren’t you?” sasses Haymitch. He narrows his eyes, expression darkening. “Why do you even care how Coin died, or at whose hands? It saved you the trouble of having to do it yourself, or tricking the boy into it like you’re some kind of President Snow.”

That stings. I did suggest that, didn’t I? I don’t know when I became so callous. Actually, I do. Satisfied that his words landed, Haymitch concludes, “Chalk it up to luck and consider it a happy accident.”

This doesn’t placate me, of course, and I leave frustrated. But what did I expect him to do? Confess to murder? Instead of retreating to my own room, I head down the hall to Johanna’s. She opted not to go to the press conference with the rest of us, claiming she needed a nap. I would have teased her about it because it’s not even noon yet, but I can relate. My unrelenting lethargy still requires me to nap often. Getting out of bed in the first place is a daily struggle.

There’s no answer when I knock. Retracting my hand, I frown, unsure what to do next. Though we’ve visited several times over the past week, I’ve noticed that Jo has never let me in her room. Anytime I knock, she comes out into the hall and pulls the door shut behind her, almost like there’s something in there she doesn’t want me to see. It’s more likely part of the boundaries she’s been keeping to as we slowly re-engage, because I doubt she has some other girl or guy in there, and I don’t know what else she’d want to hide.

Shaking my head, I decide I’m overthinking this. She’d want me to wake her up for this news. So I turn the knob decisively and push into the room, clicking the door shut behind me. “Jo?” I call out cautiously, still wary of intruding upon her. There’s no response, so I continue down a short hall leading into the main room of her quarters, passing a closet to my left and a bathroom on the right. An instant before I round the corner into the open space, a vaguely familiar thump greets my ears. A loud beat with several quieter undertones, like…

He’s standing there in my sights before I even get a chance to finish the thought. Like an animal landing on its feet. A particularly ugly one, in this case. What is he doing here? My head cocks to the side as my orange nemesis pads toward me with uncharacteristic delight. His demeanor puzzles me until he slows and lets out a hopeful meow, looking up at me with equally hopeful squash-colored eyes. A pit forms in my stomach as I feel the blood draining from my head, blurring my vision and upsetting my balance. While I blink the focus back into my eyes, I hear Buttercup voice another pitiful mewl and skitter past me to look at the door.

“She’s not here,” I say dully, but it doesn’t seem to dim his spirits. He trots back over and arches his back, rubbing up against my leg and leaving his scent on me with force. But it’s not me he really wants to reclaim. The agitation in his voice makes that clear as he finishes his circle around me and comes back into view, eyeing me expectantly.

“Are you fucking deaf?” I snap. “She’s not here. You can meow all you like. You won't find Prim.” At her name, he perks up and releases another eager mewl. Sprints to the door and starts scratching at it, begging to be let out. Begging to once again set eyes on the blonde angel who owns his heart. My chest clenches and I stamp toward the door, shaking furiously.

“Stop it!” I bellow. He turns back to me and meows loudly, demandingly. But I more than outdo his volume with my screams. “Stop it! Shut up!” Buttercup attempts to dodge my swinging foot, but it catches the edge of his backside and spins him around. Once he regains his footing, he shoots me an angry hiss. That’s more like it.

“She’s gone! You’re never going to see her again!” Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She's dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking my knees, crying. “She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. I don’t know if he’s mourning or calling for help, but help arrives.

“Katniss?” That’s Annie’s uncertain voice, distorted like I’m listening from underwater. Her slight frame crouching beside me, extending a gentle hand. “Katniss, can you hear me?” The faint pressure of human touch makes me flinch, swat her away, my throat catching with violent sobs. The world goes out of focus, and what seems like several seconds later I feel myself landing on my side, still curled up in the fetal position. Annie’s gone, but Buttercup’s still here, still crying, not dashing into the hall to find his human. Maybe he does understand. I’m his human now. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body.

I barely register Annie’s voice rejoining the cacophony of the feline’s sorrow, this time accompanied by Peeta’s. I don’t catch any words, only the concern in their tones. A pair of strong arms scoops under my body, lifts me from the floor. As my head limply falls to the side, I pass out.

It feels like several hours pass in my tortured dreamscape before I come to. Hours of once happy memories that now drag deep tracks in my soul. My stomach is tangled and gurgling as my eyes snap open and then squint into the midmorning light. I have no clue where I am or why for several moments, trying to place the unfamiliar surroundings. The reality of what just happened falls on me just as I notice the side of my head is propped up on something warm and there’s a hand stroking my hair. A small one.

“Where is he?” My flaming throat closes around that final word, forcing me to swallow.

“Buttercup?” asks Johanna. I nod, my cheek scratching against the material of her jeans. “I asked Haymitch to watch him for a bit.” The smirk is audible in her tone as she adds, “Neither of them were very pleased.”

Clearing my throat, I inquire, “Is that why you wouldn’t let me in your room?”

“Part of it,” she clarifies with that warning bite I’ve become accustomed to again recently. But then her hand resumes its gentle ministrations and her voice softens a bit. “I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I wasn’t,” I admit. Not that I ever would have been. I’m quiet for a long moment, merely moving one hand enough to cup her knee in reply. Finally, I ask, “Why would you bring him here?”

“To be with his family, brainless.” The nickname makes me roll my eyes with a quiet snort, but I feel a smile trying to tug at my lips, a haze of relief settling over me. “If I’d left him in Thirteen, they’d probably have eaten him,” she adds. “Waste not.”

“Save me the trouble of offing him,” I mumble into her leg.

Jo’s tone is droll but doubtful. “But would you really? He’s all you have left of her.” I can’t bring myself to speak, only gulp down the lump that truth brought to my throat. “Fine,” she states nonchalantly. “If you don’t want him, I'm sure I could sell him to that tiger lady you stayed with. Meaty, half decent pelt.”

“She did say she only eats raw meat,” I concur. “Though I’m not sure she’s into cannibalism.” Johanna chuckles and I finally turn over to look up into her soulful brown eyes. “Did Peeta tell you all about her?”

“Some of it. I talked to Gale, too, when he was recovering from the bullets. Before he went to Two.” I raise my eyebrows and she balks. “What? Practically everyone I know is dead, okay? I got desperate for company that would talk.”

“Should have known. Peeta didn’t see me shoot Finnick, he was too busy losing his mind.”

“Yeah, seems there’s a lot Peeta didn’t know about,” scoffs Johanna.

The corner of my mouth twinges guiltily. “There was never a good time, you know?”

Cocking her head, she presses, “What constitutes a good time?”

“Preferably when he’s not on the verge of losing his mind in a war zone during the middle of a stealth attack. Oh, and when he’s not programmed to kill me.” Her eyebrows twitch in acknowledgement of this logic, though she still doesn’t look pleased. “Lots of people could have told him since, but I guess I’m not the only one who was afraid he’d lose it.”

“Did he?”

“No. He had some choice words about it, but… I think he knew it was over between us anyway. Maybe we could have grown back together one day, but what we had, what we were? It’s long gone. We’re not the same people we were before.” Meeting her gaze, I shrug. “Like you said, we’ve all changed a lot since the Quell.”

“Yeah, he didn’t use to be such an asshole. Or at least he wasn’t up front about it.” She pauses, ruminates on this a moment. “Actually, I prefer it straight up. No more of that nice guy bullshit.”

“He really pissed you off that day,” I point out.

“Yeah, so?” Her sassy tone seeps into her eyes. “So do you. All the time.”

For the first time since the bombing, I produce a genuine smile. For the first time since the bombing, I’m struck by an urge to kiss her. Actually kiss her, like on the lips and with feeling. But I don’t. I don’t think I’ve earned that yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but a full one. Sorry for yet again the longest wait ever. My life has been a little crazy, very little time for writing, and I've more been riding the Loyalty wave. But I really wanted to get this chapter up, because I think it's an important one to set the tone for the remaining content.
> 
> Thanks, as usual, to D7P for the beta read(s) and her helpful suggestions.


	21. Insecurities

Buttercup is not the only surprise to arrive from Thirteen. A few days after our emotional reunion, I’m roused from an afternoon nap by a knock on Johanna’s door. The cat’s ears perk up, though he doesn’t leave his perch at the foot of the bed. Grumbling, Jo eases my head off her lap and onto the mattress as I wipe my bleary eyes. Tossing her book on the bedside table, she stalks around the corner to the door. The sound of it opening is quickly followed by her surprised, “Hey, Mrs. E.”

“Johanna,” comes my mother’s reserved reply. With a little squeal, Buttercup hops off the bed and skitters to the door to greet her. No surprise there. He’s probably only been putting up with me under the impression that I’m his only family left. No doubt she hasn’t bothered to visit him. “Hey, big boy.” Fabric rustles and the floor squeaks as she bends down to scoop him up, eliciting more delighted mewls. “Is my daughter here?”

“Yeah.”

They round the corner and I force my eyes to stay open to catch her equally tired blue ones. It’s hard to know what to say to her now. She technically lives here, but the number of times I’ve seen her in the weeks since my discharge, I could count on one hand. “Thought maybe you were dead too,” is what comes out of my mouth.

Hers sets in a thin line. “Nice to see you too, dear.” The attempt at motherly guilt falls flat. Lacking the emotional capacity for it at the moment, I feel only the tiniest niggle of regret. “I got a call at the hospital earlier. Some courier saying they delivered a bunch of packages from Thirteen this morning, including some to the mansion, and they just left ours in our room because no one was there.” Setting Buttercup back down on the bed, she muses, “I guess they didn’t know where to find you.”

“I didn’t know,” I mumble, letting my eyes fall closed again and nuzzling into the blanket. “They didn’t come here.”

“They wouldn’t have,” reasons Mom. “Johanna was rescued straight from prison, had no belongings to deliver.” That opens my eyes. The stuff left behind in our compartment. Of course, what else would they have sent us? “I thought you might like to sort through it with me.” Despite my lethargy, I decide I’d rather look through the stuff while I have her there for support, so I nod. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll be waiting.”

Groggily I get to my feet after she exits, rubbing my eyes again with a sizeable yawn. Peering through them, I spy Buttercup watching me expectantly just as Jo walks up and brushes some hair from my face.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to rub it in.” At her cocked eyebrow, I specify, “Your lack of possessions.”

“I brought all I had with me,” she replies. With a quick scan of my body, she adds, “Well, everything that wasn’t already here.” While I blink dumbly, she reaches around me to open the drawer in the nightstand. When she straightens back up, a white cloth bundle in her grasp, a stab of pain lands in my chest. Staring at it a moment, I silently reach out, and she hands it over. The points of the hardened, dead needles inside poke at my fingers, but when I lift it to my nose I find that a trace of pine scent lingers in the fabric, if one inhales deeply enough. This time, it’s me who has tears welling in her eyes.

“Kind of surprised you didn’t light it on fire or something after the chair incident,” I remark, blinking them back.

Jo’s mouth twitches with an ironic, half-hearted smirk. “I guess part of me wanted to believe you’d come back.”

A promise I made the morning after I gave her the bundle comes to my mind, making my eyes sting again. Cupping her cheek, I remind her, “I told you, I’ll always come back.”

Her eyes flicker as this registers, then go wide. They dart from my hand to my eyes, then my lips. Just as I’m gathering the courage to close the gap, they blink hard. Forcing a smile, Johanna steps back. “Go on,” she urges me. “Mommy’s waiting.”

A couple unsure seconds pass before I nod and retreat to the hallway. As I’m rounding the corner into the entrance hall, I hear Buttercup landing behind me and scurrying to catch up. When we reach my room, he squeezes past me and through the cracked door, knocking it open. A large cardboard box sits beside the bed, where my mother has seated herself in wait. He hops up and rubs his face up against her left arm before circling back and wedging himself between her elbow and her side. Her eyes barely leaving the unopened box, she scratches his head absentmindedly. 

Coming closer, I notice my game bag on the bed behind her, along with two bows and a sheath of arrows. The ones Gale saved from the firebombing, the ones he hunted with for the refugees before help arrived. Thirteen must have rightfully figured they were mine despite being in his possession.

“It’s good to see you and Johanna back together,” says Mom, finally lifting her head.

Meeting her gaze with a wry eyebrow twitch, I remark, “I’m not sure we’re together.” She opens her mouth to correct me, and I swiftly interject, “I know what you meant.” Sinking down beside Buttercup, I join her in staring at the remnants of our life. “Guess we should open it.”

“Might be an idea.” Leaning forward, she picks at the packing tape with her nails until a corner comes loose, then peels it back to free the flaps. Over the course of several minutes, we sift through the ominous box. Most of it is her medicinal herbs and stuff, which I’m surprised they didn’t confiscate. Dad’s hunting jacket is in the mix too, to my relief.

My chest clenches when Mom pulls out a stack of her square cloth bandages and my eyes settle on the deck of cards near the bottom of the box. Slowly I reach in and retrieve it, my eyes squeezing shut to combat the sting as my hand closes around the cards and my mind is flooded with the happy memories we shared around this deck. Prim and Johanna bonding over that slapping game. Mom’s awkward interrogation of Johanna. The laughter and the honesty, Jo’s snarky quips, the proud look Mom gave me before sending us off.

I shake my head sharply. With Prim gone, we’ll never have that again. She injected joy into every circumstance, and it will never be the same. Softly plucking at the elastic band with my thumb, I lift the deck to chest level and turn to Mom. “For Johanna.” She needs no further explanation, nor does she argue.

It’s her who extracts the next item, the photo of Dad. Turning it over in her hands, she asserts, “I want to take this, if you don’t mind.”

My eyes squint into dangerous slits. “Take it where?”

Her pursed lips confirm my deepest seated fears. “District 4,” she answers carefully. “I’ve accepted an offer to help start up a hospital there. They need experienced medics.”

Though it makes my stomach turn, my brain refuses to fully process this. “Okay,” I say blankly, and we return to the task I didn’t realize we were doing: divvying up mementos of our deceased family. Mom fingers the ribbon I brought Prim from my first trip back to the decimated Twelve, eyes me up cautiously. In response, I reach behind us for the jacket I laid there earlier. “You can take those if I can have this,” I barter.

“It’s yours, Katniss,” she answers. “You earned it, with all you did for us.”

Somehow, I’m not in the mood for flattery. Narrowing my eyes, I grab the plant book out of the box. “I guess you won’t be needing this, now. Not with all your modern medicine.”

Her throat bobs, but she nods stoically. “That’s a fair trade-off.”

Scoffing scornfully, I toss the book to the foot of the bed. “None of this is fair.” Buttercup stirs at my outburst, and I catch him staring up at me curiously with those awful yellow eyes. Jaw tightening, I pull him from the neutral territory between us into my lap. “I guess you don’t want him, either.”

Pain flashes in Mom’s eyes and she lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” The contrition in her expression is sincere, but does nothing to appease the anger and panic her impending abandonment has flooded my brain with. “Going back is too painful,” she explains. “I need to move forward if I don’t want to lose myself again.”

“And this time you don’t have any obligations making you stick around in the painful place,” I sneer. “How convenient.”

Taking my hand, Mom earnestly declares, “I love you, Katniss. You were never an obligation…” A shudder makes her trail off. “You’re my first-born,” she continues, voice cracking. I’m forced to blink away. “As much as I had in common with Prim, it was with you that I discovered the unconditional love of parenthood.” 

“And yet you’re leaving me behind now that she’s dead.” My eyes burn as unforgivingly as my resentment toward this woman. “I guess what family you have left isn’t worth keeping, huh?”

“I never said that,” she maintains, evening out her tone.

“You didn’t have to.” Shaking my head, I lock my gaze on the mostly empty box. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Her grip on my hand tightens. “I’m sorry I failed you before. But you don’t need me now.” As I tip my head to make disbelieving eye contact, she adds, “You didn’t even when he died.”

“I needed you,” I counter immediately. “I became self-reliant because it was either that or die.” Fingers twitching in her grasp, I begrudgingly admit, “It’s been nice having you back, since the Games. Someone watching over me.”

Her throat tightens again, but her features solidify with resolve. “I committed to District Four. I want to go there. If you want to join me, I won’t stop you.”

“But you don’t want me there.”

“Johanna said she wanted to return to Seven,” reasons Mom. “I never asked because I assumed you’d want to go with her.”

“I don’t know what’s happening with that,” I reiterate. “What’s happening with us.” It’s looking increasingly likely that I could end up alone, abandoned in Twelve while everyone else moves on with their new lives that don’t include me. Because I’m the source of pain and suffering that drags them down. No one wants me. I don’t blame them.

“But you do want to go with her, don’t you?” Mom presumes. With just a hint of snark, she adds, “Were you planning to take me?” I blink dumbly because, admittedly, she has a point. I hadn’t considered her in my future plans. “We both have to do what’s best for ourselves,” she continues. “Sometimes that’s starting over, even if it means parting ways with loved ones.”

My mind’s only now forming a rebuttal to her first argument. “I’d be just as happy to take Jo back to Twelve,” I reply. “If I could have my family.”

Her eyes are dead and her tone resigned as she asks, “Would you really, though?” Would I? Truly, I understand why she’s not returning to Twelve. Because between my father and Prim and the ashes, the place is too painful to bear. Before I can sort this out, she gestures at the box. “Everything else in there is yours.”

Wordlessly I bend over to examine the remaining contents, glad for the distraction. Sitting at the bottom are the contents of my drawer. Well, most of them. Seeing the locket Peeta wore into the clock arena lights a flare of panic in my brain. Eyes wide, I turn to Mom. “The pearl. Mom, I had it in my uniform pocket during the invasion. Do you think the doctors found it?”

“I think the doctors cared more about keeping you alive than checking your pockets, Katniss,” she answers dryly.

“Well, it could be in the hospital,” I stammer off my suddenly dry tongue. “They have a lost and found box there, right? Won’t you check for me? Please?”

Her expression says she thinks it’s a hopeless endeavor, but she nods anyway. “I’ll ask.”

Turning back to the box, I retrieve the locket along with the parachute and spile. The thought that maybe I should return it to Peeta gives me pause for a moment before I drop it around my neck, keeping Prim close to my heart. It holds less meaning for Peeta, anyway. The people inside are not his loved ones - he only wore it into the arena in an effort to convince me to save myself. Besides, if I lost both the locket and the pearl, I’d have nothing left of him. Maybe that’s for the best, but with this latest news the thought of separating from one more loved one makes my muscles twitch with barely suppressible jitters.

Mom gathers up the things she’s claimed and returns them to the box, then hefts it up onto her hip after shrugging on the winter jacket she wore here. I guess she’s giving up any pretense of living here. That’s probably for the best, too. Her expression some mix of resignation and affection, she steps forward and sweeps my bangs back with her free hand, plants a kiss on my forehead. “I love you,” she murmurs. “Even if I’m not always the best at showing it.”

Shrugging listlessly, I admit, “To be fair, neither am I.” Our eyes lock for a moment, and she brushes her thumb over my cheekbone once before repeating the forehead peck and turning to leave. 

When the door closes, I wilt onto the mattress. I’d intended to go back and deliver the cards to Johanna, but this ordeal has drained what little energy I had. Chuckling darkly, I curl into a ball. I allowed myself to need my mother again, in some small way - I know because of how much it hurts. What a fool I am. Blindly groping behind me for the hunting jacket, I find it and wrap myself in the familiar leather, pulling it as tight as I can. Despite my racing pulse, within moments I fall back into a troubled sleep.

When I wake nearly an hour later, my brain is still buzzing with the losses today has brought. My need to take action, to at least try to win some of it back, is what pushes me outside into the frigid air. Johanna finds me in the Circle some fifteen minutes later, inching along in a squat, inspecting the cracks between the paving stones with unrelenting eyes. Hers narrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for the pearl,” I mumble, my eyes not leaving their task. “I think I might have dropped it out here.”

“Peeta’s pearl?” I nod. “I thought you brought it with you when you shipped out.”

“I did.”

It takes a few seconds for this to click, either that or Jo’s measuring her words. But that’s so very unlike her. “Katniss, that was months ago,” she states. “Even if it fell out of your pocket during the bombing, there’s no way it’s still here.” I know all this. Something is compelling me to look anyway. “It’s more likely at the hospital. No one found it there?”

“I don’t know. I’d think if they had, they would’ve given it to me.” Blinking hard, I waddle a little farther to expand my search area. “I asked my mom to check.”

“So why are you out here?” she presses.

“Because I have to do something.”

Jo squats down in front of me, braces a palm against my collarbone. “Katniss. If it fell out here, someone took it. This place is in shambles, people are desperate. Finder’s keepers. And there was the execution and everything - it could have gotten kicked all the way to District Two by now.”

Sighing, I finally lift my head. Why doesn’t she get it? She’s probably right, but I thought she understood me better than this. As I focus on her face, her eyes drop to my chest and immediately cloud over. Just as I realize what she’s spotted, she scoffs, “What does it even matter?” Her hand leaves my shoulder to gesture at the locket dangling from my neck. “You still have that to remind you of Bread Boy.”

“It’s not just Peeta,” I mumble, eyes flitting away. “It helped me focus.”

Her head tips condescendingly. Or maybe it’s just curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Like, if I was upset or anxious, I’d roll it between my fingers. It helped calm me down.” My explanation only brings on another bout of her doubtful blinking. “Like biting my nails or hiding in small spaces, you know?”

“Whatever, weirdo,” scoffs Johanna.

My cheeks flare up indignantly and I retort, “How would you feel if you lost the pine bundle?” Her blinking is rapid and disbelieving this time, brown hues flaming with hurt. What exactly I just equated suddenly becomes clear in my mind, and I hold up a hand defensively. “I’m not saying it’s the same thing.”

Johanna snorts, rolling her eyes into oblivion. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, to some extent,” I shrug, as though I’m not choosing my words carefully. “Both gave us the strength to go on in tough times. Both were from someone who loved us.” Johanna’s aggravated eyes return to me, and I hold them steadily. “The difference is more how much we loved them back.”

“Does he know that?” she grills me, eyes narrowing testily. “Does he even know it’s over between you two?”

Nodding decisively, I assure her, “I told him.”

“Yeah, well you told me lots of things that you believed were true, but weren’t.” Her sneer seeps into her voice. “I’ve learned to take your word with a grain of salt. He probably has too.”

“I don’t lie to you, Jo,” I insist evenly, torn between deescalating and defending myself. I don’t want to fight, but she seems in the mood for it.

“You lie to yourself,” she snaps. “That’s the problem.”

Suddenly I’m gripping her wrist tightly. “Look. I am not in love with Peeta. I don’t know if I was or not before, but I’m not now. But I care about him and… everything’s changing.”

Johanna’s aggressive posture slowly deflates, the fire in her eyes dwindling to a smolder. “I understand that’s why you’re upset.” As my fingers loosen their grip, she slips her hand out and entwines them with hers at the farthest knuckle. “Your mom told me she’s leaving,” she tells me, blatantly analyzing my expression. “Asked me to take care of you.”

“Passing the torch,” I snort to the ground. “It must be a tough job.”

“You do make it difficult sometimes.” She’s squinting impatiently when I look back up. “Like right now, you’re gonna give yourself pneumonia because you can’t accept change and loss.”

“I don’t like losing things. I never had much of anything to call my own,” I explain. “And say what you will about Peeta, he’s important to me and he gave it to me. And it’s helped keep me sane.”

“Not very well,” cracks Jo, a corner of her mouth turning up. At my exasperated sigh, she pats my knee. “I’ll help you look for it, okay?” she suggests, then pivots in place and peers down at a crack perpendicular to mine. “Get you inside sooner.”

Somehow, with Jo’s time and health on the line as well as mine, the futility of this exercise is more evident. It’s not long before I admit defeat and say we should pack it in, but she searches meticulously until the moment I do.

As the warm air of the lobby hits us, her arm slips over my slumped shoulders. “I’ll get you a new one,” she pledges, her weight slowly dragging me to a halt. “Or something like it.”

My head turns, and I get an eyeful of her earnest expression and concerned gaze. There’s no time to second-guess myself before I’m leaning down and pressing a firm, lingering kiss to her lips. Though her eyes grow a couple sizes in the meantime, her mouth takes a few seconds to reciprocate the peck. Softly, but not weakly. When I pull back, the surprise in her eyes is evident, but I see a glimmer of something else I haven’t seen there in far too long. Hope.

Lips turning up of their own free will, I graze my fingers down her arm until I’m grasping her hand. She lets me. It’s not until we’ve passed half a dozen people and I notice Johanna poorly hiding a genuine grin that I recognize this as the first time we’ve held hands in public. Well, there was the Block test, but I’m not sure that counts. At the time, I was hoping it would be interpreted as a mere comforting gesture. Now, I couldn’t care less. The smile spreads to my face as we near our quarters.

As we slow to a stop in her doorway, I remember something else and make a side trip to my room. When I get there, I find that Buttercup has woken up in the time since I left and is now flicking his tail in displeasure at being left behind. That makes two of us. Scooping him up along with my token for Johanna, I retrace my steps down the hall.

Jo’s curious expression as I enter the room dissolves as I drop the cat on her bed and extend the deck of cards to her. Mouth hanging open and forming soundless words, her eyes slowly sweep from the cards up to my face. Caught off guard as she is, she can’t mask the vulnerability in them. “For me?”

Nodding, I press the cards into her hand. “I’m sure this wasn’t how you wanted to get them back.”

“Nah,” she agrees casually, though her breath catches at the end of the syllable. Not bothering with the pretense of clearing her throat, she looks up at me helplessly through a thick swallow while the tears pool in her eyes. As the first ones escape, her lip quivers the slightest bit and I can’t help but draw her into my chest, laying a kiss between her eyes on the way.

Raking my fingers through her hair, it strikes me how long it’s gotten, and how long it’s been since I’ve done this. A few inches, a few months. “I’m sorry,” I mumble into her scalp. “I know this is hard for you too.” A muffled sob escapes her throat and she nods into my neck. My own tears spill over and I find myself squeezing her tighter, as though each other’s touch could heal all the wounds pockmarking our souls. For the moment, all it does is soothe them. I cling to her ever tighter anyway.

***

A couple of days later, I’m sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest in Peeta’s window seat, staring at the city lights twinkling against the darkening sky. The evening before the election is upon us, and the Capitol is pulsing with the same eerie energy it usually reserves for the eve of the Hunger Games. It’s unsettling, to say the least. The cup of tea Peeta hands me just before he eases himself down across from me is supposed to help with that, I’m sure. Sipping his, he lifts an eyebrow. “Feels familiar, huh?”

“Mm hm,” I nod, clutching the warm mug tightly enough to effectively immobilize my fingers that so badly want to tremble. “Some things never change.”

“It’s for something good this time, at least,” he muses. “Really, it is bringing change. That’s what the people want.”

“I guess,” I mumble. “It’s not a bad thing to waste your enthusiasm on, if you have any to spare.” Baby blues eyeing me empathetically, Peeta nudges my leg with his foot. Giving my mouth a half-hearted twitch, I take a long sip of the hot brew and return my gaze to the city streets. At least we’re not watching and listening from the top of a skyscraper this time. Couldn’t jump to my death from this window even if I tried.

On that note, I decide I’d better redirect my thoughts before they turn too dark. I must be growing as a person. Turning to my former district partner - former so many things - I ask a question I feel oddly invested in, despite hoping it won’t have to affect me anyway. “Are you going home after?”

Peeta blinks over. “Maybe. I guess it depends on who else is there.”

“I think Haymitch is staying here with Effie,” I speculate.

Nodding neutrally, he ponders, “Probably.” Which tells me Haymitch has nothing to do with it, consequently crushing me under the weight of Peeta’s expectations that he claims he doesn’t have but I never seem to be able to shake.

“You shouldn’t run your life around me, Peeta,” I tell him. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

He lifts an earnest eyebrow. “What if I want to?” The thinly veiled exasperation in my ensuing sigh does little to deter him. “I care about you, Katniss. Whatever we are.”

“I care about you too,” I state emphatically. “Which is why I want you to go live your own life. Find a girl who can love you back.”

“It’s not so easy for me to find girls to love,” he mumbles, dropping his gaze to his tea before directing it out the window. “I’ve only ever loved one.”

My mouth puckers the slightest bit. “Yeah, me too.” An unreadable emotion crosses his face, and I automatically dial it back a notch. “It’s nothing personal. I have a hard time connecting with other people.”

“You don’t just mean girls, do you?” infers Peeta, his penetrating gaze sweeping over me. “You never loved me.”

Deciding that exposing him to my own confusion in that regard will help no one, I say what I do know to be true. “Not the way you wanted me to.”

“That’s almost a relief,” he sighs, combing tense fingers through his hair. My surprise must be evident, because he goes on to clarify, “Better than thinking you did and the hijacking stole our future.”

“Maybe we could have had a future,” I shrug. “But it wouldn’t have been ideal.”

He squints inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, tapping my foot on the sill beneath me. “You made me feel all warm inside, Peeta,” I tell him, tone and gaze heartfelt. “Occasional butterflies. At the time, that was enough.”

“But not anymore.”

“No. I thought that was all there was, but I was so wrong.” As I try to find the words to describe it, a warm rush floods my brain, bringing a stupid smile to my face. “Jo doesn’t just make me feel warm, she sets me on fire. She makes me feel like I’m flying.”

“Like off a cliff?” he smirks, eyebrow arched facetiously.

“Basically, yeah,” I snort. “It’s scary, but…” Still basking in the hormone surge, I sigh happily. “I’ve never felt so alive. When I see her, I get this rush and it’s like… it’s like being in the arena, only there’s no one wanting to kill me.” My lips twitch wryly. “Usually, anyway.”

Peeta directs his gaze out the window with a quiet snort. “Well, you two have always had a very unique relationship.”

Pulling myself back together, I conclude, “Bottom line is, I never had to question whether my feelings for her were real. That’s more than I can say for you or Gale. It’s like night and day.”

“I can see that,” he concurs, glancing back in time to catch my surprised blink. “Now that I know to look for it. The way your eyes light up when she’s around…” With an inward chuckle, he shakes his head. “You can’t fake that.”

I can’t help but snort. “She says I’m a terrible fucking actor.”

“You got by,” Peeta smiles with only a hint of wistfulness. “We both did.”

When we’ve emptied our mugs, he sees me out the door. Standing there, slumped against the doorframe, he looks so small and worn down. Well, he is pretty small, but still. “You sleeping okay?” I hazard.

Peeta shrugs. “It was easier with you,” he admits, “but I’m the one who didn’t come to your aid that night after the vote.” As the possible implications of this statement start to catch up with me, he quickly clarifies, “I know, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Just saying, maybe I deserved that.”

“Maybe. You’re still a good person, though.” Nodding down the hall behind me, I add, “Especially relative to this crowd.” That brings a small smile to his lips and, on impulse, I pull him into a hug. His strong arms slip around me and I relax against him. I’ve missed being able to relax in his presence, let alone in his embrace. Maybe some space really will be good, for both of us. For some reason, despite this rare moment of optimism and knowing that I shouldn’t have to, I feel the need to apologize. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” I mumble into his shoulder. To console him, I suppose, or maybe just to assuage my own lingering guilt.

“It’s not necessary,” he assures me, with a comforting squeeze. “Maybe I just need to find myself too.”

Drawing back far enough to look him in the eye, I nod sagely. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

Of course, Johanna decides this is the perfect moment to stroll around the corner into our hallway, a paper bag swinging carelessly at her side. Our eyes connect over the top of Peeta’s head and mine widen a little in a mild panic that I hope is not too obvious. Her gait slows the slightest bit, that energy now redirected into a tiny smirk that makes my heart sink. Feeling the sudden tension in my body, Peeta releases me and turns around.

As she reaches her door just across the hall, Johanna gives her ally-cum-rival something of an amused nod. “Peeta.”

But he seems to sense the volatility lurking under it, given his cautious response. “Johanna.”

She chuckles, surely enjoying another chance to make him squirm, and swoops into her room. A petulant meow sounds from around the corner, prompting a bout of cynical laughter. “Wanna come play with your pussy, brainless?” she calls over her shoulder as she sets the bag on the table by the window.

Blood seeps into my cheeks as I turn back to Peeta, who I selfishly hope will also be blushing. No such luck. “She means Buttercup,” I explain, sheepishly nodding into the room.

“I’m sure,” he smirks, folding his arms amusedly.

I only narrow my eyes slightly in a weak attempt to glare before following Jo inside and closing the door behind me. As I round the corner, I see she has settled on the bed and pulled Buttercup into her lap, stroking him aggressively. He seems to like it, pushing up against her hand, but he can’t feel the hostility coming off her in waves. “Jo, it’s not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like, Katniss?” she sing-songs, still focusing on the cat. She lifts her head and an eyebrow. “Hm?”

The tension and this passive-aggressive act is grating at me and making my skin crawl. With a heavy sigh, I toss a hand and plea, “Can you just yell at me and get it over with, please?”

A high chuckle parts her lips. “And then we can kiss and make up, all better?” she suggests mockingly. Finally, her unaffected mask drops into a serious expression. “Do you really think this shit is that easy?”

“Hard to make up if you don’t fight,” I point out.

Her eyebrow shoots up again. “So it’s a fight you want?”

“No. I just don’t want you stewing there, bottling everything up instead of telling me how you feel.”

“How I feel?” she drawls. “I feel like this is your typical indecisive Katniss bullshit. Kiss me, and then run into lover boy’s arms again.”

My arms fold indignantly as I scowl, “Oh, so now I’m not allowed to hug my friend, all because you say so?”

“A: I never said that,” she responds impatiently. “B: Peeta’s not your friend. He’s never been just your friend. You two are an emotional train wreck and it’s still chugging along, even now. Pardon me if I feel insecure in the wake of all the star-crossed lovers drama.”

“And it’s my job to cater to your insecurities?” I shoot back.

Fire sparks in Jo’s eyes, her mouth dropping open. That look curdles my innards in mere seconds. Even if it hadn’t, her biting, condescending tone as she answers would have done the trick. “The least you could do is not make them worse. Sorry if that’s too much to ask of you, Mockingjay.”

“I’m not trying to make things worse, Jo,” I counter, struggling to control my tone and keep this from getting further out of hand. It becomes infinitely harder when she outright laughs at that assertion, making my face flush. “It’s not like I knew you were gonna come waltzing around the corner, you know. We were having a serious conversation about our feelings, but it ended on a good note and a hug felt appropriate after.”

Jo’s demeaning scoff tells me this wasn’t helpful. “Great, so you’re still throwing affection at pain. We all know where that leads.” Despite my massive eye roll, she doesn’t back down. “It’s not like my insecurities are unfounded, okay?” she protests, some genuine emotion finally shining through. “You're never going to stop feeling bad over Peeta. Are you ever going to be able to let him go? Or will you go running every time he has a meltdown? Holding his hand, hugging him, god knows what else.”

My eyes unconsciously drop as I bite my lip guiltily, and as they track back up they find her staring at me. “What?” she demands suspiciously. Alarm bells go off in my brain as I feel my face blanching in her crosshairs. Her expression only hardens in response. “What, Katniss?”

Deciding that it’s probably better to explain it than have her thinking the worst, I take a deep, steadying breath. “Jo, I didn’t tell you this because I was afraid you’d freak out…” Her arms cross dangerously, and I almost lose my nerve. Almost. “In the sewers, Peeta went mutt. After those slimy lizard men attacked us.” She swallows with a small nod, making my chest ache before I even deliver the blow. “I kissed him to pull him out of it.”

Johanna absorbs this silently for a couple seconds, nodding to herself. Lips slowly turning up, that dreaded high-pitched, derisive laughter rumbles out of her chest. Buttercup jerks his head up to eye her uneasily, then jumps off her lap with a nervous mewl. “Oh, so you had the chance to kiss him, but not to tell him you had a girlfriend,” sneers Jo. Chuckling inwardly, she shakes her head. “Does your life feel meaningless if you’re not breaking any hearts?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re not fair, Katniss.”

Sighing in exasperation, I throw my hands in the air. “What do you want from me, Johanna?”

“You could start by not making out with one of your boy toys every time I’m not around,” snarks Jo.

“We weren’t-”

“Not that time,” she interjects sharply. Dragging her fingers through her hair, her shoulders droop as she emits a low growl of frustration that makes my stomach clench with unexpected arousal. “What I want, all I'm asking of you, is to figure out what the fuck you want. It shouldn't be that hard.”

“I want you!” I pronounce. “I just got through telling him that.”

Hardly convinced, she mutters, “Oh, yeah?”

Taking a seat beside her, I place a hand on her knee, calling her eyes back from the floor. “Look, that kiss was a split-second decision. He was lost in madness and begging for us to kill him. It worked for you on the training field, so I thought maybe I could snap him out of it. And it worked.”

Scrutinizing my face, Jo questions me, “You sure that’s the only reason why?”

“I think I wanted to know if it was really over for me,” I admit, unconsciously rolling the fingers of my free hand together as if the missing pearl is between them. They halt and splay out as I notice what I’m doing. “And it was.”

“And what if it hadn’t been?” she presses. “Would you have just dropped me for the Muffin Man?”

I shake my head. “I highly doubt it. But it would have been more painful. I’m glad it was over.”

Her eyes fall again, to her hands as she rubs them together. “It doesn’t feel like it’s over.”

Reaching in, I grasp one of those fidgeting hands. Looking her straight in the eye, I sincerely inquire, “What can I do to prove it to you?”

“I don’t know,” she admits lamely. “Probably nothing.” That fledgling hope I saw in her eyes the other day has been drained, sapped along with the life in her expression. Maybe there is no hope for us after all. Was our involvement really just a torrid flash fire of an affair with no future? Was that all it was meant to be? I’m loathe to accept that, but if she doesn’t know how to fix this, then I have no clue. Standing with a sigh, she gestures toward the bag on the table. “Anyway, I brought dinner.”

The bag, it turns out, contains a can of salmon for Buttercup as well as a fresh loaf of bread and two takeout bowls. When I crack the lid on mine, the familiar smell of my favorite Capitol dish wafts into my nostrils even before I can see the lamb stew inside. My uneasy eyes settle on Jo, who smiles smugly. “It’s not like I didn’t watch your interviews, girl on fire.”

“Yeah, on repeat in your bedroom,” I scoff.

Jo’s eyes widen in surprise almost as much as mine do at that uncharacteristically crass remark, but while I’m busy blushing she pulls on that familiar predatory smirk that makes my gut stir. “Is that how you watched mine?” she purrs.

My cheeks only darken further. “Well, you heard Prim,” I stammer, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. “I thought you were pretty cool. I stayed up late to watch the repeat that year, and I usually avoided watching the Games as much as possible.” Snorting under my breath, I add, “I think my mom thought I had a crush on Titus.”

“Entirely possible,” comments Jo dryly. “You do like being eaten, as it turns out.” Her mouth turns up a bit as mine drops open, but before I can even try to match her joust, it falls again and she sinks down into her seat. Opening her own bowl, she orders me, “Eat up, Everdeen.”

Cocking an eyebrow with more confidence than I feel, I quip, “The stew?”

“Yes, the stew, brainless,” she answers through an irritated squint. It turns to a scowl as I sit down and she starts shoveling spoonfuls onto a slice of the warm bread. My heart sinks, watching her inhale the meal with hunched shoulders, avoiding eye contact. Johanna’s walls are nearly impossible to penetrate, especially when so heavily guarded, though hastily thrown up. She’s shutting me out when all I want is to get back in her head. Other places would be nice, too. My conversation with Peeta roused feelings I’ve been too numb to rediscover up until now, and this resistance on her part is making it ever clearer how much I want her. Need her.

No stranger to desperate measures at this point, when Jo is scraping her bowl clean with a slice of bread, I make a snap decision to let a titch of the thick broth dribble off my spoon just before it reaches my lips. The drip splatters right beneath my collarbone, and as beads form and start rolling down my chest, I provocatively remark, “Whoops, I spilled some.”

Jo looks up and, upon seeing the mess, reaches into the bag. Digging out a napkin, she offers it to me without a word, nor even a flicker of amusement or arousal in her expression. Disappointment droops my face and I slowly take the napkin, now feeling like infinitely more of an idiot than ever before. But when my hand gets halfway to my chest, her straight face suddenly cracks and she pops out of her chair, rolling her eyes through a grin. My eyes shoot open as her face drops into my cleavage and tongue flattens on my skin, cutting off the trail of liquid. Slowly she follows it back up my chest, all the way to the splash point.

But she doesn’t stop there. Her warm tongue slides over my clavicle and starts cutting a path up the left side of my neck. My head tilts automatically to grant her better access as she leans across my body, dragging it higher and higher until it curls behind my jawbone. Just as she teases it over the back of my earlobe, she gasps into my ear, and I automatically echo her as a sudden rush shoots down from inside me, soaking my underwear. Holy shit.

She pushes just a touch further, sucking the lobe between her teeth and giving it a couple soft suckles before pulling back to look me dead in the eyes, which have dropped open just as far as my gaping mouth. There’s still plenty of annoyance plain in her face, but also a hint of affection. After giving me a needlessly pretentious wink, she stands, leaving a kiss on my hairline on the way up. Her palm brushes over my shoulder as she passes me on her way to the bathroom, and I'm left sitting there in my own juices trying to blink a shred of functionality back into my brain.

That side of Johanna, well, I haven’t seen it since before the Block Test. Back before things got rough. We didn’t stand up so well to tough times, but that’s slightly less depressing when I remind myself that that’s my fault. I can still change. And Johanna can give me another chance, if she wants. And I’m so desperately hoping she wants, between the dull aches in my heart and my groin. That moment, it’s a glimpse of what we used to be, before all this. Another glimmer of hope. I don’t want to waste it. I don’t want to fail her this time.

Despite those determined thoughts, I can barely look her in the eye when she gets back. It’s been a while since I’ve been so jumpy around Jo, at least for this reason. It’s not the only reason, though, and I’m relieved when she asks if I’m coming back after I announce I’m going to my own room to shower before bed. I’d assumed she wouldn’t want to sleep beside me after the Peeta debacle, and between that and my embarrassment over my latest awkward attempt at flirting, I was casually planning to drown myself in my toilet. Well, probably not.

When I return, the room is dark and Johanna is already under the covers, Buttercup curled up by her feet. I briefly entertain the notion that she is naked under there as a surprise for me, but shake it from my head because I’m sure that’s too much to wish for. It is, as I find when I slip in and cuddle up beside her, my hand skimming over her clothed stomach. Jo hums and circles her near arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer and prompting me to lay my head over her heart and my hand on her chest.

Thrilled just to be lying in her arms after the day we had, I don’t push for anything more until her hand winds into my hair, her nails gently scraping my scalp. That causes a slight stirring in my stomach as well as a surge of affection, one that makes me push myself up a little to kiss her on the mouth. Though seemingly caught off guard at first, Jo responds eagerly yet gently. Her contented hum sends vibrations down my spine, ending in a place I haven’t felt much of anything in a long time. Mouth dropping open with a tiny gasp, I press down into her lips and flit my tongue out to swipe along them.

When Jo parts her lips to let me probe her tongue, my hand on her chest grips the collar of her sleep top, thumb sweeping over her collarbone as I tighten my fist. My impassioned grunt echoes down her throat at first contact, my breathing escalating quicker than I’d like to admit. I am ravenous, and as much as I wish I could hide that, my body betrays me. Not like if I was a guy, but still.

Gently pressing up on my shoulders, Jo tips her head back, searching my wild eyes. Despite the clear arousal in her own expression, she only lifts her head to give me one more closed-mouth kiss before turning to lie on her side, tugging my arm to coax me into big spoon position. It takes little convincing, despite not being exactly what I had in mind. Sliding my arms around her, I try to ignore the ongoing thrumming in my groin, the heartbeat echoing from there to my ears. I leave a few kisses in the crook of her neck before nuzzling into it, squeezing her slight frame tighter with all my limbs. It’s not everything, but it’s enough. She is enough.

***

“Why did they have to have it here?” groans Jo, glaring out the window sourly.

Sidling up to her, I too look down at the line of huddled figures winding around the building, just one story below us. The chatter woke us up earlier than she would have liked. Grumpy Jo can be so cute. “On the bright side,” I point out, “it means we don’t have to go out in the cold to find the nearest polling station.”

Jo grumbles vague agreement as she pulls her sweater tighter around herself. Automatically I step behind her and wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on top of her head as she leans back into me. “Think they’ll let us jump the line?”

“Enough people around here hate us,” I remind her. “They’ll probably let us for our own safety if we bring that up.”

Tipping her head up to catch my eye, Johanna smirks. “Not so brainless after all.”

On our way to the lobby, where the polling booths have been set up, we cross paths with Peeta. Jo slips her arm around my waist the second she sees him coming, in a move that makes me grin. Though his eyes briefly flick down to the possessive display as he approaches, Peeta doesn’t comment on it. “Hey,” he greets us with a tired smile.

“Hey yourself,” Jo answers, slowing to a stop and pulling me with her. The blonde pauses in his tracks too. “You voted already?”

“Wanted to go when the line was short,” explains Peeta. “I have an appointment with Dr. Aurelius this morning. Hoping he’ll clear me to travel.”

“Oh, good luck,” I interject, with an awkward little nod that just about makes me roll my eyes at myself.

A corner of Peeta’s mouth pulls up. “Thanks,” he smirks, before continuing on his merry way.

As I’m watching his retreat over my shoulder, Johanna asks, “Where’s he going?”

“Twelve, I guess,” I shrug, unsure myself. “He said he might go back.” This train of thought continues as we resume our journey, and I squint down at Jo. “Did he clear you to leave yet, or…”

It takes her a second to figure out who I mean, judging by the puzzlement on her face. “Oh, I’m not with the same doc,” she answers with sudden clarity. “But yeah, she said I could. A couple days before the execution.”

This is news to me. Trying to play it cool, or maybe just not assume too much, I inquire, “So you stayed for the election?”

With a look that suggests she’s either questioning my seriousness or my intellect, Jo drolly remarks, “There’s polling stations in all the districts, brainless.”

My plan to jump the queue works flawlessly, and we briefly split up to cast our votes behind some cardboard trifolds they’ve set up for privacy. Not that it’s any secret who we’re voting for. Paylor is the unanimous choice among the victors, at least as far as they’ve declared. Some, like me, have even publicly endorsed her. I guess Coin’s fear in that regard wasn’t so misplaced after all.

Before heading back to the victors’ wing, we swing by the kitchen for some breakfast, which proves helpful to Johanna’s mood. Thank god. She actually talks about things other than the cold and how much she hates everyone as we wind our way through the hallways. It’s not until we’re back on our turf that I broach the earlier subject again. “So do you still want to go back to Seven?” Jo only answers with a silent nod. A lump rises in my throat, forcing me to gulp it down before I push any further. “When?”

“That depends.” We’ve reached her door, and now she leans casually back against the frame.

“On what?” I press, keeping a steady voice, hoping my theory proves true.

Her brown eyes roll slightly. “On whether you’re coming with me,” she spells out. “I know you haven’t been cleared. I can wait.”

Trying to keep my whole face from erupting in a grin, I merely cock an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yeah,” she answers quietly. “I want you with me, Katniss, but if you don’t know what you want-” Her answer is cut short by my lips pressing against hers, pulling the breath from her lungs in a passionate, if short-lived, kiss. As I pull back, her mouth is left hanging open.

“I do,” I tell her, with all the conviction in my soul.

Her mouth closes just long enough for her to bite her lip. “You’re sure you don’t want to go back to Twelve?” From the look in her eyes, she doesn’t mean the place so much as the person. Hoping to put her fears to rest once and for all, I cup her cheek and stroke it with my thumb as I give her the best assurance I can.

“There’s nothing left for me there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank D7P for being so helpful, as usual. ;)


	22. Escape Artist

Unrelenting lines of voters continue to funnel into the mansion from the City Circle, even late into the afternoon. The constant racket grates at our nerves, and eventually Johanna and I decide to go for an early dinner to escape it. The sun has warmed the city since this morning, so it’s an enjoyable walk, especially once Jo takes my hand with a smile that I can’t help but return.

About ten minutes outside of the Circle, she ushers me into a small, seedy diner in a back alleyway similar to the one where we found Tigris’s shop. A tiny bell weakly rings as we push through the door, but the four other patrons barely look up from their conversations or meals. As we slide into a booth, Jo tells me, “This was one of my favorite places to escape during the Games.”

Admittedly, I’ve never considered what the mentors and other visiting victors got up to in the Capitol during the Hunger Games and the week preceding it. With Haymitch and Finnick being the most prominent examples, I supposed they all drank themselves into a stupor or slept around the Capitol. As I shake that rather unpleasant thought from my head, Johanna adds, “The people are nice, and it’s not so fucking fancy.”

Just as she’s saying this, I notice a girl maybe a couple years older than me approaching us, notepad in hand and a wide if slightly shy smile gracing her lips. Free hand sweeping back a lock of blue hair that has fallen across her face, she reveals equally blue eyes and a rather thick ring pierced through her septum.

“Hello again,” she greets Jo in a mostly subdued Capitol accent before throwing a cursory glance at me. Her eyes don’t quite make it back to Johanna before jumping back my way, widened considerably. My mouth twitches as I awkwardly blink away. Even with the hood of my sweatshirt up, I have the most recognizable face in Panem. “Oh,” the girl stammers. “Hi, welcome.”

The roll in Jo’s eyes is perfectly audible even before I look up. “Don’t be weird, Beth,” she teases. When my gaze automatically jumps to the girl’s name tag, I see it reads Tabetha and is covered with an array of peeling stickers. Between the well-used tag and Jo’s familiar tone, I surmise immediately that this Beth character is probably not a recent acquaintance.

“Sorry.” Clearing her throat, our server regains her composure. “What can I get you ladies?”

“Coffee for me,” Johanna orders offhandedly, perusing her menu.

“Black with two sugars,” Beth cuts in with a knowing nod. “I gotcha.” Turning to me, she fights to keep her expression neutral. “Anything to drink for you, miss?”

“Hot chocolate?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

That precarious facade crumbles with a cheek-splitting grin. “A woman after my own heart,” she winks. While I stare mutely, she inquires, “You want that topped with whipped cream?”

“Um, sure?” I mumble, scratching at the heat I feel crawling up my neck.

My blush seems to spread to her pale cheeks instantaneously, her eyes flashing to Jo. “Great. I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back with that,” she tells us before scurrying away. She’s only just passed through the swinging doors to the kitchen before a snigger pushes its way out of Jo’s nose.

Turning to my girlfriend, I dryly remark, “I guess not everyone wants to kill us after all.”

“No,” she smirks.

“Was she flirting with me?” I whisper, leaning in. “Or was that my imagination?”

Jo only snickers more, shaking her head affectionately. “No, no it was not,” she states decidedly. This lifts my eyebrow again.

“You’re not jealous?” I probe.

“I have a higher threshold than that,” chuckles Johanna. “The whole world wants to sleep with you, Katniss. Nothing new.”

Pompously folding my arms, I sit back and spout, “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“I wasn’t,” she maintains with a teasing glint in her eye. “It’s still true.” The sensation of something grazing down my calf makes me startle slightly in my seat. By the time it reaches my heel, I realize it’s her foot and I rotate my ankle to meet it with my own.

While our feet mingle, dueling under the table, I give her the eyes as best I can and comment, “Then I guess you’re a lucky woman.”

With a sly wink, Jo immediately banters back, “Almost as lucky as you.” My ensuing pout only makes her laugh, but it doesn’t last because I think she’s probably right.

That warmth is still coursing through my veins when the bluenette waitress returns to take our food order, leaving us with our hot drinks and a couple of buns in a basket. It’s there under those dim artificial lights, watching Jo slather a dinner roll with butter, that a wild elation fills my chest and brings a mischievous grin to my lips.

“Let’s go. Tonight.”

Johanna glances up with a furrowed brow, wiping her knife on the edge of the butter dish. “You’re not cleared.”

“So what?” I scoff. “What are they gonna do, hunt me down and drag me back here kicking and screaming?” Leaning earnestly across the table, I tell her, “I just want to get out of here.” I take her hand, weaving our fingers together. “With you.”

Uncertainty colors Jo’s expression as she considers this, but eventually she squeezes my hand with a smile. A wide grin breaks across my face and she asks, “Do you want to go home first? Pick anything up?”

“I am home,” I declare succinctly. Her instant smile tells me she’s flattered at my implication, but she tips her head and gives me a look indicating she actually wants an answer. A quick mental inventory later, I tell her, “I already grabbed everything important on my trips back from Thirteen. Someone else can enjoy the pretty dresses.”

“There’s a train to Seven via Two at 10:30,” says Jo. I don’t question how she knows this offhand. She’s probably been on the verge of disappearing since the execution. Ducking her head meaningfully, she adds, “Enough time to swing by the hospital.”

A shudder runs through me and I shake my head. “I don’t wanna risk them finding out and locking me up.” Also, I’m not exactly thrilled by the prospect of seeing my mother again, considering how our last meeting went. Johanna, of course, knows this and is hardly fooled by my cover story.

“How would you feel if she disappeared and only left a note for you?” she points out.

Snorting sourly, I snark, “She didn’t do much better than that herself.”

Leaning in closer, Jo squeezes my hand. “Look, call me selfish, but I like your mom. I don’t want this to turn into a huge feud where we never see her again.” Her eyes hold mine sincerely as she continues. “She’s your only family, Katniss. And she’s the closest thing I have.”

This is true. And, of course, Johanna would know better than anyone the painful void of losing one’s whole family. I know she’s trying to spare me grief. Nodding to acknowledge her point, I sigh. “Okay,” I agree grudgingly. “I’ll go see her after we eat.”

“Good,” she smiles. “You’ll thank me one day.”

We’re still holding hands when Beth comes by with our food, though I don’t think much of it until I notice her eyes wander to our entwined fingers and then briefly to my companion’s face. Her expression flickers and she sets the second plate down in front of me with another awkward smile. “Let me know if you girls need anything else,” she encourages us.

“We will,” I reply warmly. “Thank you.”

Following a slightly blushy nod, the waitress leaves with just one more fleeting glance at Johanna, who follows her away with a short eye roll. I find myself blinking back and forth between my girlfriend and the parting server, unsure if I’m sensing something or just being paranoid. The way Jo uneasily averts her eyes suggests she can read my mind. “The carpet doesn't match the drapes,” she mumbles down at her plate, though I can see she’s fighting off a smirk.

“The what?” Brown eyes flit up at me, then down into my lap, then back up with an amused glint. It hits me all at once what she means, and the blush returns to my cheeks full force, brought on by embarrassment and smoldering jealousy. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” she chuckles, only half-sincere. Off my glare, she softens her expression. “It was different back then. Before you.”

Ducking my head to hide my sudden fledgling smile, I shrug. “Mm. Well, she is pretty cute, I guess. If you're into that whole District 10 look,” I snort, pinching my septum. It takes a few confused seconds before a surprised laugh pops out of Johanna, making me grin proudly.

“Cute, huh?” she repeats, her smile turning predatory again. “Well, if you wanted, I'm sure she’d love to join us for an evening.”

I throw her a very unamused look. “No, thanks.”

One of her eyebrows lifts warningly at my continued surliness. “If I can put Peeta behind me-”

“I know, I know,” I grumble. “Okay. It’s all right.” But the thought that the Capitol is probably crawling with Jo’s former conquests only cements my resolve to get the hell out of here. Then again, Seven may not be much better for that. We’re going to have a lot of baggage, wherever we go. But at least we’ll have each other, too.

***

“Katniss, I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea.”

My mother’s fists are planted firmly on her hips as we face off across the desk in the tiny office she’s been squatting in. Seeing what she passed over living with me for has only added insult to injury, making me particularly irritable even before this argument started.

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to take off for a new district whenever you want, but I have to stay here and rot in the city of my nightmares?”

“I’m not in therapy,” counters Mom.

“Maybe you should be,” I retort. She shoots me a warning look, but at the moment I’m beyond caring if I hurt her feelings. “I’m serious. It’s not like you’re handling this any better than me. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“Staying busy helps,” she explains. “If I stop, I feel more, and it’s hard to start again. Doing anything.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “I remember.” Mom’s blue eyes flash with anger, but they also drop to the desk. A surprising twinge of guilt hits my gut, only aggravated by Jo’s urging to salvage our one remaining family tie. Softening my tone, I inquire, “You think maybe it’ll be easier to stop in Four?”

“That’s the idea,” she replies, though it takes a moment longer for her to regain eye contact. When she does, mine blink away sheepishly.

“I’m leaving for the same reasons as you are, you know. This place is messing with me.” Scratching behind my ear, I mutter, “Home would only be marginally better. At least there I wasn’t a human sacrifice. And less people died.”

Her pale eyebrows knit. “Thousands of people died there.”

“I mean in front of me,” I clarify. “This place is a fucking graveyard to me. Everywhere I look, I see the bodies that dropped before my eyes.” Blinking away the flash of fire that still haunts my sleeping and waking hours, I swallow hard. “When I look out Jo’s window, I can see where Prim died.”

The blonde snorts inwardly. “And you wondered why I couldn’t stay there.” She must not miss the flickering of my eyes, because she immediately asks, “What, that never even occurred to you?”

“No, it did,” I answer slowly. “If I’d had some other place to stay, I might have left too. Snow’s mansion isn’t exactly filled with happy memories for me. I just thought…” I trail off, too embarrassed to finish. In my mind, everything bad is somehow my fault. What did Johanna call me? Not selfish, but self-centered. My toe scuffs the carpet as I deflate with a heavy sigh. “I thought it was because I reminded you of things.”

“I slept at your bedside for weeks when you were in the hospital, Katniss,” she points out. “It’s not that I wanted to avoid you. You’re all I have left.” Her fingers drum on the desktop as she looks me over. “I think you understand why I need to leave. And I get why you want to, obviously. But if you run off, I fear you’ll cut off contact with your head doctor.” My eyes roll automatically. Of course she had to resurrect the argument. “I’ve heard good things about the therapy,” she insists, “and Dr. Aurelius seems genuinely invested in your care, from what he’s said to me.”

“You know he mostly just naps during our sessions, right?”

“Not when you’re actually willing to talk.” When I roll my eyes again, she gives me an admonishing head tilt. “Will you please just give it a chance, call him when you get in? I know you’re in good hands with Johanna, but sometimes it helps having someone else to help you figure out what’s going on up there, someone who doesn’t have all the same baggage.”

“I guess I don’t entirely trust any of the Capitol people I don’t know,” I admit. “All they did here was pretty me up for slaughter. They didn’t care who I really was so long as they could take my face and make me their plaything, use me however they wanted.” I snort under my breath. “Hell, that’s all most of the country did.” Releasing a long sigh out my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut and collect my thoughts. “I really need to get out of here, Mom. I need to find myself again. And I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“I can understand that,” she says decisively. “And I won’t stop you or tell anyone who might. But please, promise me you’ll call.” Her throat bobs. “Me, if not the head doctor.”

She has no business demanding this of me when she’s the one who planned to skip town first, without me no less. But she had her reasons too. At my evasive blink away, her voice sharpens into that distinct mothering tone I’ll never admit I missed. “Katniss.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “I will.”

“Good girl,” she commends me with a firm nod, ignoring my ensuing eye roll. “When does your train leave?”

“At 10:30.”

“Not much time to pack,” she remarks.

“Not much to pack,” I remind her. “Only a few goodbyes to say. Hopefully Haymitch and Effie are at the mansion.” Peeta should be there too, and he’s about the only other person I care to say goodbye to. Almost. Brow furrowing, I muse, “I should probably say goodbye to Gale. Do you know where his family is staying?”

My mother blinks hard, clearly surprised. “Sweetheart, Gale’s gone.” What? As the blood drains from my head and my stomach ties itself in a knot, she continues, “Some kind of government job, military stuff. His whole family left a few days ago. Hazelle came to say goodbye.”

Gale probably thought our moment at the mansion was our last goodbye. It didn’t have to be. But I wasn’t particularly looking forward to facing him again either, so maybe it’s for the best. I guess I’ll never know now. “Not to me,” is all I say.

Mom smirks ironically. “Seems we’re not the only ones making a break for it.”

“I guess he had a lot to run away from,” I mumble. “Here and in Twelve.” The dead and the living. Me, in particular. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. Blinking away the wisp of that confusing emotion, I step around the desk to wrap my mother up in a hug, and say what I failed to last time. “I love you, Mom.”

Her hands ride up my back to grip my shoulders as she lets her head loll against the side of my face. “I love you too, Katniss.”

The chill from this morning has resettled in the streets by the time I leave the hospital, any trace of daylight now long gone. But it’s my icy insides rather than the winter air that make me feel so numb. With my head down, I slink through the reveling crowds heading for the Circle to hear the election results, not acknowledging a soul. When I knock on Peeta’s door, even his smile fails to bring me the familiar warmth it often has.

Slipping by the blonde with a neutral nod, I jam my hands in my hip pockets and wait for him to close the door. He does so with raised eyebrows. My eyes flit away involuntarily, like his always used to in my presence. “Did Aurelius clear you?”

“No,” snorts Peeta. “Said he needs a bit longer with me in person before transitioning to therapy over the phone.”

“That’s bullshit,” I grunt.

“Yeah, it sucks.” Peeta wanders toward the window, scratching the back of his head with a frustrated hand. “I told you I’d leave here the day we arrived. Remember that?” I do remember, but he’s not looking at me and I don’t feel like opening my mouth, so I don’t respond at all. “And all they’d done at that point was reap me.” Head shaking, his shoulders droop. “They don’t even care that I was tortured within screaming distance from here.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” I ask abruptly. Peeta turns around, eyes flickering with an indiscernible emotion, and I have to battle the urge to avert mine again. I didn’t mean to be quite that direct about the whole thing. But I lack even my usual low reserve of tact at the moment, so I simply declare, “I’m leaving tonight. I’m not asking, I’m just going. I’m not imprisoned, and I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“Going to Seven?” asks Peeta, seemingly unruffled. Rather hypocritically, it crosses my mind that his nonchalance might bother me if I had any fucks left to give. In reply, I only nod. So does he. “Kind of expected that.”

My hands dig deeper into my pockets. “You still think you’ll go home?”

“I have some things I’d like to grab from my house,” he answers. “But I don’t think I’ll stay. No one I care about will be there. Might as well start fresh somewhere else.” His mouth twitches. “Like everyone else.”

“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he mutters, waving me off. “I guess I’m just jealous that you and Haymitch have reasons to want to go somewhere else.” His gaze strays out the large window overlooking the city. “I feel adrift, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” I answer sincerely, though I’m not sure it comes through in my voice. With a shrug and a few steps his way, I try again, poorly. “Guess you gotta find yourself some place to moor.”

I wasn’t even trying to be funny, but Peeta responds with a humorless chuckle. “Finnick would appreciate the boat metaphor.”

“It doesn’t have to be a person, you know,” I suddenly impart. Those blue eyes squint and I specify, “What makes you want to stay somewhere.”

Peeta’s snort is quite possibly the most sarcastic I’ve ever heard from him. And that’s saying a lot. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“I know,” I sigh, hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. “I mean, I want you to be happy, even if you don’t find someone to love right away.” Pulling the corner of my mouth up in an attempted smile, I suggest, “If you’re adrift, you might as well have an adventure. Try to find a place you like and start there.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “that’s probably what I’ll do.”

Abruptly crossing the seemingly massive few feet separating us, I pull Peeta Mellark into a hug. Wrapping my arms over his shoulders, I put my mouth to his ear and whisper, “Take care of yourself.” His arms around my waist give a small squeeze in return. Leaning back enough to take one more look at his glassy blue eyes, I plant a spontaneous kiss between them. Then I leave before the contact gives me the chance to get emotional. It wouldn’t do either of us any good at this point.

Across the hall, Jo is reading while propped up against the headboard, stroking a napping Buttercup sprawled on her lap. Blinking up, she asks, “How’s your mom?”

“Fine,” I shrug. “Or about as fine as she can manage.” Picking at one of my cuticles, I mumble, “Gale’s gone.”

Familiar as she is with my conspiracy theory regarding the bombing, Johanna cautiously raises her eyebrows and asks, “Is that good or bad?”

“Good, I guess,” I muse impassively. “Saves me having to decide what to do with him.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” she cautions me. “It doesn’t necessarily mean he never wants to talk to you again.”

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” I protest. “Disappeared to Two without a word. What kind of friend does that?”

“An ashamed one,” she replies without missing a beat. “He probably thought you wouldn’t want to talk to him.”

I snort. “I’m not sure I did.”

“Then why are you upset?” presses Jo.

“I’m not upset.” Raking a hand through my hair, I pace in the general direction of the bed. “This is just so unfair. The only two people I cared about for years, this fucking war took them both from me.”

Johanna’s cedar eyes narrow slightly and she deadpans, “That must be terrible for you.”

Face contorting in insult and suddenly burning hot, I cross my arms aggressively. “Just because you’ve had it worse does not mean I’m not allowed to mourn my own losses, Johanna,” I snap. “Grow the fuck up.”

“Says you?” retorts Johanna, eyebrow cocked humorously. But I’m not laughing. Rolling her eyes, she mutters, “Sorry.” When she looks up from her lap again, her face is straining in a way that saps a fraction of my anger. Her ability to do that almost pisses me off more. “Look,” she sighs, “Snow actually killed all my people. I never had the luxury of giving up on my relationships.”

“Gale’s the one who left,” I point out.

“Yeah, turns out Gorgeous has no balls,” she replies. “But if you wanted to stop in Two on the way-”

“I don’t,” I interject with certainty. “I just want to get out of here, Jo. Away from all this. I want to go to Seven.”

Eyes flitting away, Jo nods lamely. “Okay.”

Alarm bells sound in my head and it tips inquisitively. “What’s wrong?”

Johanna lets out a long sigh, studying me intently. “Are you sure you want to leave with me, Katniss?”

“That’s what I just said,” I reiterate with an eye roll.

“Brainless,” she snaps impatiently, effectively shutting me up. Her tone is more measured, however, as she continues. “I know you want to leave. That’s all you’ve been saying since dinner. But you’re so caught up in playing escape artist, I’m not sure you care where you end up.” With the uncertainty infiltrating her eyes, I’m able to read between the lines.

“Or with who?” I extrapolate, dipping my head meaningfully. When she licks her lips and glances away, I lower myself onto the bed and crawl over until I’m seated beside her outstretched legs. Still facing her, I too drop my gaze. “The reason I wanted to leave was…” Trailing off, I return to that moment in the diner in hopes of finding the words to explain.

“Sitting there with you, watching you, I had a moment where I felt so warm and alive,” I ruminate, and her eyes flick back up to catch mine. “It was like when we went hunting that first time in Thirteen and I said it made me feel like we weren’t in a war, like we were just two regular people living our lives.” My fingers slip between hers. “I felt at peace, content. Happy, even. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

“So had I,” admits Jo, her voice thick with emotion.

Nodding, I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “I wanted more, and I wanted that to be my life. Our life.” Seeing her eyes shining with what I hope are happy tears, I give her hand a comforting squeeze. “You’re my second chance. Yeah, having you makes it easier to start over. But more than that, it makes me want to start over. It makes me feel like I can. Like maybe I can be happy.” Dipping my head to catch her gaze again, I grin deviously. I know how to play this girl. “You’re sort of like my Mockingjay,” I flatter her. “My beacon of hope.”

Ducking her face into her collar to hide her smile, Jo snuffles back the mucus clogging her sinuses. “Does that mean I get to prance around in a cute outfit?” she cracks.

My grin devolves into an enticing smirk. “Please.”

Her eyebrows lift with exaggerated surprise, but in her vulnerable state she fails to cover up the arousal lurking beneath it. Or maybe she just doesn’t care to. “Well if you’re coming with me, you’d better get ready, Everdeen. Gather your shit.” I’m sliding off the bed with a smile when she adds, “And take a shower. I don’t want to know what you’d smell like even from a couple days sitting on a train, let alone longer.”

That makes me pause and turn around. “There’s no sleeper cars or showers?”

“You think these are the fucking tribute trains?” she scoffs. “I have no idea, honestly, but better safe than sorry.”

“Okay,” I nod, suddenly hesitant. Tilting my head, I venture, “Do you need me to…”

“I’m fine,” she waves me off. “I’ve worked myself back up to using the rags on my own. I’m okay as long as I go slow.”

“Oh,” I say. “Good for you.” At her little snort, I rephrase, “I mean, that’s good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” she chuckles sardonically. “As the new head doctor would say, celebrate the small victories.”

“Sometimes that’s all we can do,” I shrug. Johanna nods her agreement, though she still looks far from pleased about it.

Back in my own room, I take that shower she insisted upon and then haul out my game bag. I pack the plant book in the bottom, followed by the locket, spile, and parachute. I’m still mildly annoyed that the pearl never turned up, but knowing I’m moving on to better things makes it easier to leave once crucial keepsakes behind. If I’m being honest, some part of me wants to torch all mementos of my past rather than cling to their comfort, but I know I’d probably regret it down the line. Jo can slash and burn, I’m sure. But she's had much more practice. And the fact that she’s tried to keep me from doing the same speaks volumes.

To be safe, I pack a couple of changes of clothing. Then, shrugging on my hunting jacket, I sling the bag over my shoulder, grab my bows and quiver, and leave my dwelling of several months without looking back. 

Johanna, it turns out, has even paltrier baggage: a lousy excuse for a satchel that I assume contains Prim’s deck of cards and the pine bundle I gave her. “You’re not packing any clothes?” I inquire. At least she’s wearing a fresh set and looking a little cleaner than before.

“I don’t want any of this Capitol shit,” she scoffs. “And there’s no need. I have plenty of my own at home.” I’m not sure what it says about me that the first thought her words bring to my mind is that she’ll be sleeping naked if there’s a bed to be had.

It’s barely nine o’clock, but Jo decides to go call a cab now. Watching her eager exit, it occurs to me that maybe she’s every bit as anxious to get out of this hellhole as I am. When I turn back to the bed, I find Buttercup eyeing the game bag warily, no doubt remembering his last jaunt as my travel companion. “Sorry, buddy,” I tell him, nodding at his makeshift carrier. “I don’t think they’ll want cats roaming free on the train.” The feline responds with an indignant hiss but climbs in all the same, flumping down on the pile of clothes with a huff. Unable to hold in an affectionate chuckle, weird enough to begin with, I reach out and rub my palm over his skull. “Good boy.” Closing his ugly yellow eyes, he pushes his head up against my hand, purring up a storm. I snort inwardly. What ever happened to us?

“Twenty-five minutes,” Jo grouses as she reenters the room. “Election night and all. Good thing we’re ahead of schedule.” Stopping short at the sight of us, she smirks. “Sorry, were you two having a moment?” Exchanging a look with Buttercup, I narrow my eyes and he lets out a low, throaty warning growl. Yes, it’s our little secret. Johanna snorts knowingly but lets it go.

Before long, we’re closing her door behind us and heading down the hall toward the courtyard where we’ll be meeting our ride. On the way, I stop outside Haymitch’s door and give it a set of quiet raps.

“Come in!” calls my mentor. Following his directive, we find him and Effie sitting at the table watching election coverage.

“You’re not going to catch the announcement in person?” I squint. “You’re right here.”

“It’ll be a while yet,” replies Effie. “Polls only closed an hour ago in Seven and Four.” Scanning our attire and baggage, she observes, “Speaking of which…”

Jo jerks her head at me. “Her idea.”

“No shit,” remarks Haymitch. But his surprise fades as he looks me over. “You never liked doing what you were told.”

“Really?” Effie chimes in, grinning deviously from behind her teacup. “I never noticed.”

“Ha ha,” I drawl, glaring at the insufferable pair of adults. “I come to say goodbye, and you take the opportunity to mock me one last time.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find ways in the future, sweetheart,” teases Haymitch, only irking me further.

Johanna shakes my shoulders playfully, forcing some of the tension out of them along with a grumble.

Rising from her seat, Effie guides me into a hug that I return despite my irritation. Upon pulling away, she instructs me, “It’s your job to take care of yourself now, Katniss.” With a quick scan of my body, she tips her head and implores, “Promise me you’ll find it.”

“Find what?” I blink.

Lifting her chin proudly, she states with more flair than necessary, “The life of a victor.”

I peek over my shoulder at Johanna, who’s currently exchanging a man hug with Haymitch. The corner of my mouth twitches affectionately as I turn back to Effie. “I’m sure going to try.”

“I’m so proud of you, my girl,” she says, smiling despite the sheen in her eye. At least she’s not flat out crying like before the Quell. Though it was endearing, dealing with someone else crying over your imminent death is super awkward. Hugging me once more, she tells me, “You deserve some peace now.”

I never deserve peace, not after all the destruction I brought. Live by the sword, die by the sword. With a weak smile, I thank her anyway. Moving on to hug Haymitch, I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he urges me, hands on my upper arms as I step back.

“I won’t.”

Glancing over my shoulder, presumably at Johanna, Haymitch grunts, “Try not to fuck this up.”

A nostalgic grin splits my lips. Eyes glinting playfully, I remind him, “It was fucked up from the start.”

***

As our cab traverses the last few blocks leading to the train station, my brain is awash with memories of these streets, most far from pleasant. Humiliating chariot rides, a lonely tent, a twin sister lost forever in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, we don’t pass the block where Boggs lost his legs and Peeta all but lost his mind. When the car pulls into a parking spot close to the main entrance, from the angle I recognize it as essentially the spot where Gale and I were standing when Peeta came strolling out of the station all those months ago. The paralyzing fear I felt in that moment revisits me briefly, this time rooting me in my seat.

Johanna is too busy digging in her pocket to notice my discomfort. After handing our fare to the driver, she slips him another bill. “For your discretion,” she explains as she pulls her cap lower over her face, and he nods wordlessly. I’m not sure it matters, as there will no doubt be other passengers in the station to potentially recognize us. Given my signature weapons and telltale height and skin tone, I think it’s pretty obvious who I am. Still, I appreciate the thought. I’m not really afraid that somebody will try to keep us from leaving if we’re recognized, but I’m so fucking tired of being the Mockingjay. More than just about anything, I crave a break from the public eye, and Johanna knows this.

Oddly, there’s actually quite a few passengers here, at least twenty seated around the grand lobby plus a good dozen in line at a makeshift ticketing booth. Judging by the lack of luggage, many of them are disembarking in Two sometime after midnight. Still, Jo and I exchange an uneasy look. Already wearing my quiver, she wordlessly takes my bows and joins the line while I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and split from her side. Keeping my head bowed, I retreat to an area across the lobby from the largest cluster of passengers, not strictly out of sight but hopefully out of mind.

When I dump my bag against the wall beside a line of plastic folding chairs, it emits a surprised yelp and growl, making me jump. Once I can catch my breath again, I shush the cranky stowaway and glance over my shoulder, thankfully detecting no response to his sounds of protest. Plunking down on the chair next to the bag, I curl my fingers tightly under the edges of the seat as though it can help me retain my grip on the present. It takes several minutes of telling myself I’m here by choice this time before I can finally believe it and unclench my fingers and shoulders.

Blinking the focus back into my eyes, I level them at the ticket booth and the girl standing a few people back in line. Adjusting the quiver on her back, rolling her eyes with impatience, containing entirely much too personality for her tiny body. The anxiety gnawing at my gut slowly dies down as my lips turn up, but as it leaves another emotion starts bouncing around in its wake, making my knee jitter again for a whole new reason. Is that… excitement?

It’s such a foreign emotion, now. But I recognize it as I watch my girlfriend, as my eyes stray to the flashing board announcing the destination of the next train. It’s in this moment that I know for certain I made the right choice, not to go home. I would have been dreading that trip. Being in this station is bad enough, let alone in that house, with all its ghosts and once happy memories to haunt me.

Johanna’s standing before me again in minutes, flashing tickets in my face with a triumphant smile. “Got us a room in a sleeper car,” she winks. Before I can entirely process the possible implications of this, she’s adding flatly, “For your pampered ass. Shared bathrooms, though. Hope that’s okay, Mockingjay.”

“Shut up,” I huff, nabbing her hand and yanking her down onto my lap. She lands straddling my waist and wearing a surprised look, which I promptly kiss off her face. It takes me a couple seconds to remember we’re in public and pull away, nervously scanning the waiting area. Thankfully, the uncharacteristic display of affection seems to have garnered little to no attention. The young woman who served Jo at the booth surely recognized her and is watching with wide eyes, but that’s about it. As I was hoping, without my weapons I’m both less eye-catching and less recognizable. Suddenly my eyes pop wide open. “Wait, where are my bows and arrows?”

“I had to check them,” the smaller girl squints incredulously. “You can’t just bring deadly weapons on board a passenger train, brainless. What if some mentally disoriented victor running away from her head doctor got her hands on them?”

“Oh, you’re so fucking hilarious,” I drawl, glaring up at her smug little face. I’m saved from having to come up with any smarter retort than that by shouts from across the lobby.

“It’s on, it’s on!” an excited voice calls.

“The announcement!” another chimes in.

Jo and I are standing in a flash, cautiously making our way over to the edge of the crowd gathering around the TV mounted about ten feet up on a pillar near the ticketing booth. Through the din of excited chatter surrounding us, Caesar Flickerman’s familiar voice fills my ears, gushing about how this is such a momentous day in the history of Panem, a truly life-altering event. I snort inwardly. As much as has changed, so many things have stayed the same. I’m kind of glad to hear his voice, though, despite some unsavory associations. Caesar was always kind to me, if a brainwashed idiot like the rest of them, and I never wished him any harm.

Caesar ceases his commentary as Plutarch Heavensbee steps out onto the very terrace of the mansion where I shot Coriolanus Snow not two weeks ago. It’s scrubbed clean of the blood once staining it, as is Plutarch. I scowl reflexively.

“Good evening, people of Panem!” he starts. “Today, we have taken our first step toward a true democracy. Government for the people, by the people!” As his fist shoots up in the air, the audience goes nuts. For someone I’ve only ever known to write speeches, he has commendable stage presence. He doesn’t waste much more time with words and theatrics, though, before opening an envelope with a flourish. The crowd falls silent, here and in the City Circle. “I am pleased to announce that, with forty-seven percent of the vote, Panem’s first ever elected president is Commander Tasha Paylor of District Eight.”

The Circle erupts with cheers that we could probably hear from here were we not indoors. Reaction in the station is mixed but overall positive. I think everyone is so thrilled to have elected a president, they can’t much begrudge backing a losing candidate. Jo and I turn away and retreat as the small throng of passengers turn amongst each other, congratulating themselves on the achievement. If anyone has recognized us, they say nothing about it.

The crowd is still chattering as the first boarding call sounds, causing the lobby to slowly empty. When only a few people remain in line at the gate, Johanna stands and extends her hand to me. “You ready to get the fuck out of here?”

My smile is broad and genuine. “Am I ever.”

After boarding the sleeper car and locating our room, I head off to use the toilet and brush my teeth before bed. While in the bathroom, it finally occurs to me that I have no plan to allow Buttercup to relieve himself during our journey. Maybe I’ll chuck him out the window at each stopover. With that visual fresh in my memory, I’m still chuckling when I get back to find Johanna sitting on the edge of the bed, stowing her items in the drawer of the bedside table. She blinks up suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

“The possible alternatives to a pan of sand for the fleabag,” I deadpan.

Johanna chuckles. “You gonna toilet train him?”

“No idea,” I admit. “I didn’t really think that through.” Glancing over at Buttercup, who’s napping atop my bag in the corner, I add, “Wish I had a leash for taking him outside.”

“He’ll be fine,” Jo waves me off. “He always came back in the Capitol. And where else would he run off to?” I suppose, so long as I don’t actually throw him out the window. But I don’t say that part out loud. Jo’s digging in her bag once more, withdrawing a closed fist after a few seconds. Before I have a chance to ask, she’s sliding off the bed. “I got something for you,” she explains as she steps toward me. “While you were seeing your mom, I did a little shopping.”

Intrigued, I hold out my left hand to receive the mystery object. When Johanna opens her fist, something small and heavy drops into my palm. Pulling my hand away to inspect it, I discover she’s given me a small glass marble. Clear but for some streaks of green inside, in varying hues but all equally beautiful. As I roll it in my fingers, admiring it with my jaw hanging open, Jo comments, “It might be a bit bigger, but I did my best.”

“It’s perfect,” I respond immediately, my eyes prickling with emotion. Tossing the marble in my palm once, I close my fist around it and turn my attention to Johanna, cupping my other palm around her cheek. Earnestly I tell her, “You’re perfect.”

The struggle to remain emotionless is clear on the girl’s face, something I wish she felt no need to do around me. But that’s my own fault. I hurt her the last time she let her walls down. “Oh please, brainless,” she huffs, “I’m far from perfect.”

Allowing no time to second-guess myself or get nervous, I lunge forward and press our lips together. After a long few seconds, I tilt my forehead to rest against hers, only slightly separating our mouths. “Perfect to me,” I breathe before reconnecting for another kiss. This one gets deeper, quickly, with Jo digging her nails into my shoulder and lower back and parting her lips to allow my tongue access to her own. The instant they connect, I accidentally expel a soft moan into her mouth and her clutches only tighten.

A few whirlwind moments of gasping and clawing later, I pull back enough to get a breath and a read on Johanna. Swollen, parted lips. Dilated pupils. The look of hunger I remember. Still, I’m a little unsure of how far she wants to take this, of how much she trusts me, so I feel as much relief as I do adrenaline when she starts walking us backward toward the bed. But once we’re almost there, she sinks down onto her heels, breaking off the contact. That’s when she reaches for my hand, extracting the forgotten marble from my clutches.

“Won’t have you losing this one too,” she scolds me playfully as she drops it in the drawer with her other effects. Then she reaches up to loop her arms around my neck, surrendering herself to my touch, to my roaming hands that yearn to rediscover every inch of her. They waste no time in finding her waist and steadily riding up her back as I take her lips again with another needy moan. They barely brush over her bra strap before my left impulsively changes course and retraces its path, unhooking her bra through her shirt in one fluid movement. I’d think I would be rusty after so many months, but then again for how many times I daydreamed about undressing Johanna during the invasion, not to mention the last twenty-four hours, it should be no wonder my hands remember as well as my mind does.

In the time I’ve been busy congratulating myself, Jo’s eyebrows have shot up. She appears more surprised than anything, but still I force my hands to stop halfway around her ribcage. “Is this okay?” I ask, holding her gaze intently.

She merely chuckles, “It’s more than okay, brainless.” With that, she lifts her arms, prompting me to rid her of the pesky clothing. Needing no further incentive, I grip her bra through her shirt and rip both off in one fell swoop, then drop them carelessly behind me as I take in the sight for sore eyes. Mouth suddenly watering, not to mention other parts of me, I graze my palms up over her ribs until I’m cupping her perky breasts, feeling their heft and softness once again. Whimpering, Jo lets her arms circle my neck again, arching up into my hands as I brush my thumbs back and forth over the quickly stiffening peaks.

Her heavy breathing and hungry lips revealing just how aroused she’s getting, I progress to tugging and rolling her nipples with eager fingers while I suck her lower lip, dragging it between my teeth. Her mouth releases a gasp followed by a visceral whimper-moan, and any remaining self-control of mine goes flying out the window. My ministrations, previously measured, turn rough and furious, only wresting more wonderful noises from Johanna that echo down my throat and into my groin.

Now forcing her backward with my whole body, I shove her down on the bed and immediately clamber on top of her. But she’s already sitting up, tearing desperately at my shirt and forcing my arms up so she can rid me of the offending garment. My bra follows in all of two seconds, and then she’s pulling me down with her, sliding her hands down my sides to my hips as my weight presses into her and the expanses of our bare skin meet, culling groans from both of us.

My hands grasp Jo’s smaller ones and drag them back up, entwining our fingers as I pin them beside her head. Grinning at the way her jaw has dropped open in arousal, I grind against her with teasing pressure, dipping my thigh down to press between her legs. Our nipples catch a few thrusts in, drawing a surprised gasp from my lungs.

“Katniss,” whines Johanna, her voice even higher than normal. Lifting my face from the crook of her neck, I find her eyes dark and wanting. With only a moment’s hesitation to savor that look, I give her a short but passionate kiss and then start a swift descent down her body, pausing just long enough to give each nipple a longing suckle and graze of my teeth. My lips traverse the straining, taut muscles of her abdomen while my hands trail just behind. When they make it to her waistband and pop the button, I look up to see her watching me with an adoring gaze. Her right hand weaves into my loose hair and I automatically tip my head so it rests against her palm.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper. Her thumb brushes over my hairline in reply, mouth turning up ever so slightly. Leaving a kiss on the heel of her hand, I get back to work. After opening her zipper, I work her pants and underwear down her legs, slowly enough to leave a few kisses behind the receding hem. But once I’ve dumped them on the floor, I waste no time diving back and spreading her thighs. And when my tongue flattens against her clit and she produces this incredible sound, a sense of relief washes over me and makes me groan with satisfaction. That taste. That voice.

My efforts are diligent and thorough. Not that they aren’t usually, but I put every ounce of my attention into bringing her pleasure. Every stroke of my tongue feels like a tiny apology, like the smallest assurance that I never want to let her go again. My hands slide up to fondle her breasts and tweak her nipples as I push my tongue inside her, plunging into her pool of arousal as eagerly as I would the lake on a hot summer’s day. Her hips rock against me while I work my tongue inside of her, swirling around her walls and pushing deep. Eventually I acquiesce to the demands of those hips and the hand still gripping my hair, falling into a rhythm that complements hers.

Another whimper and a tug on my hair are what cause me to resurface minutes later, though the growing need for air doesn’t hurt. Johanna guides my mouth back to her throbbing clit, which I treat to some slow, broad licks. Squinting brown eyes that meet my sparkling gray ones voice her irritation, despite the conspicuous jerks in her hips.

“What’s the hold up, Everdeen?” scowls Johanna. Smirking, I wink and immediately wrap my lips around the pulsing bundle of nerves, giving it a series of quick sucks. Her breath stutters and I raise a sassy eyebrow. “Yes, that’s better,” she snaps.

Snorting into her folds, I resume the suckling at a slightly slower pace, gradually ramping up my forcefulness. I slide my hands down her stomach to caress her thighs, draping them over my shoulders in the process. Jo responds by crossing her ankles behind my back, digging one heel in and squeezing my head between her muscular thighs. Seems she’s intent on smothering me one way or another. At least I’ll die happy.

Actually, the most unfortunate result of her enthusiastic embrace is how her sounds of pleasure, which I fucking live for in this scenario, are now muffled. So I resolve to make them louder to compensate, naturally. Taking my right hand from where it’s hooked into her thigh crease, I graze it around her butt cheek and tease a finger around her rim once before abruptly jamming three of them inside her.

Johanna’s first response is a yelp of surprise and maybe pain, quickly followed by, “Oh, holy fuck!” Not a second later she’s squeezing my fingers tightly and lifting her hips to draw them in deeper. Once again I fall into rhythm with her, plunging in and out of her as she rocks her hips against my hand. As I’m sucking harder now and roughly rubbing her with my tongue, my once steady breaths are devolving into labored, almost desperate pants through my nose. Yet I soldier on, picking up the pace until she’s bouncing her hips off my face, moaning loudly and twisting my hair in her fist.

The way her sharp cries are catching more and more informs me she’s getting close, so I curl my fingers and pull at her front wall as I continue to pound inside her. She clenches them in a death grip, my name spilling from her lips on repeat while her hips quiver against my face as she rides me to the brink. A loud, surprised shout climbs out of her throat suddenly as her hips buck and smash into my chin, her clit pulsing hard under my tongue. My eyes roll back with pleasure and I groan into her pussy, echoing the delicious moans pouring out of her. I’m feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, but I’d wager jubilation rather than asphyxiation is to blame.

When Johanna’s frenetic movements subside, her knees trembling around my head, I slow my thrusts and finally lift my head long enough to take in a full breath. The lightheadedness does not abate, proving my theory. A warm and tingly feeling of satisfaction accompanies it, radiating through my body as I stroke my tongue back and forth over her crimson nub that’s still swollen and throbbing, still responsive to my touch. Over time her grip on me loosens and I pull out, licking down her slick runway to tongue her hole and drink every drop she’s offering. Now using my fingers to massage the last ebbs of pleasure out of her clit, I glance up briefly to watch as her head tips back, residual groans still rumbling from her throat.

“Come here,” she half whispers, half growls. I blink up again and see her eyes have regained their focus, boring into me like a drill. Gulping reflexively, I wipe my mouth on my bicep and crawl up her body. By the time I’m hovering over her, her blown pupils and flushed cheeks have brought another saucy grin to my lips. “Shut up,” she huffs, yanking me down into a kiss by the scruff of my neck.

A few chaste kisses later, Johanna drops her head to the pillow, dragging my lip between her teeth on the way down. Wonderment dominates her expression as she stares up at me, still suspended above her, and her thumb brushes my hairline again. I reply by cupping her cheek, gazing into her eyes with equal intensity. There’s no need to speak.

After a long moment, my thumb strokes Jo’s cheekbone and I dip my head to reconnect our lips. As I work my tongue into her mouth, she gasps slightly at the distinctive tang flavoring it. She gives it a suck, causing me to chuckle, then works her own tongue into the fray as she claws at my shoulder with her free left hand. Groaning her aggression into the kiss, she releases my neck to slide her hand down my side. I barely have time to echo her before that hand is crossing my stomach and worming under my waistband, fingers eagerly straining to claim their prize.

Instinctively I spread my knees further apart on the mattress as she fights her way into my underwear. Her fingers sink into my folds and she groans with satisfaction, possibly louder than I do. She pulls them back to find my aching clit and strokes me back and forth, pulling some whimpers from my lips that quickly escalate into visceral moans. Putting all my weight on one arm, I rip open my pants with a single shaking hand. Together we push them down my hips just enough to give her better access without impeding my ability to spread my legs.

My trembling lips make resuming the kissing a bit difficult, but Johanna has never been the type to back down from a challenge. Her lips as relentless as her eye contact, the little sparkplug rubs me in circles interspersed with teasing flicks. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, my knees are quaking as much as my lips. I start rocking my hips, essentially humping her hand and prompting her to return to straight lines. We move opposite each other, gradually speeding up until my abs ache with effort and my breaths are coming in broken grunts and whimpers.

When I let out a particularly juicy moan, Jo snarls and flips us abruptly, landing on top of me with blazing eyes. Urgently she snatches the edge of my pants and drags them down with my underwear, forcing me to lift my hips before I help kick them free from my ankles. She pitches them across the room like she’d rather never see them again, which isn’t exactly unlikely. Jumping back on top of me, she lands with both my breasts in her grasp and stuffs one in her mouth before I have time to react. Those greedy hands knead the soft flesh and whichever nipple is not in her mouth, which changes rapidly and often while she sucks with desperate gasping noises like some kind of starving Seam baby.

Currently caring more about my own desperation, I push my hips up against her leg in an attempt to regain some pressure and get my release. “Jo,” I whimper, to no available. Growling under my breath, I yank her face up by her bangs with one hand and grab her right wrist with the other, prying her hand from my breast. “Johanna,” I bark, glaring as I force the reluctant hand back down my body.

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Ruin my fun.” The voracious zeal with which her fingers return to their previous activities, however, suggests she’s not having any less fun. She settles with her lips suckling my left nipple, taking over for the departed right hand while her left toys with the other. With all my most sensitive parts now getting their share of attention, the pressure in my core mounts rapidly, soon surpassing the level it was at before she ripped the last of my clothes off.

Johanna, apparently not caring that I’m going absolutely fucking insane with the need to come, continues to explore everything she’s missed, now moving her hand to ease one digit deep inside me. She gasps in awe at the sensation, losing her mouth’s grip on my nipple at the same time, resulting in a frustrated eye roll from me. But I can’t really begrudge her that, given the way I devoured and savored her body. Her new fascination and the intensity in her deep brown eyes spark a new wave of desire in me and I reach around her shoulder to sink a couple of fingers back inside her from beneath.

Her breath hitches, hands suddenly pausing in surprise. But then they resume with a new vigor, mouth rejoining the effort and thumb pitching in on my clit. Bouncing her butt against my hand to bolster its efforts, she moans into my chest as she grinds her thumb against me and pulls at my wall with soft strokes of her finger. With the warm buzz now spreading through every inch of my body, it’s all I can do to keep up. Sweaty foreheads pressed together, we gasp our growing pleasure into each other’s mouths as we make futile attempts to kiss.

“I love you, baby.”

When Johanna’s molten brown eyes blink hard and go wide, I realize those were my words piercing the din of ragged breaths. But I’m too impassioned to be embarrassed. Besides, I mean it, with every ounce of my being. “I do,” I breathe, intently locking eyes with her.

Jaw slackening, Johanna expels a heavy breath like the wind’s been knocked out of her. But the surprise doesn’t paralyze her like moments ago. This time, it fuels her. Eyes squeezing shut with exertion, she sucks and rolls my nipples harder and pulls her fingers out to fly back and forth over my clit. My hips start to shake to the soundtrack of my escalating erratic moans, one calf caressing hers as I power through, refusing to let my burning arm lapse.

A muffled groan from below echoes into my ears and my groin suddenly explodes with pleasure, gushing onto Jo’s hand as my head tips back with a stuttering cry. Her walls pulse around my fingers only seconds later, culling a lingering moan from her. I ease off when her hips slow after a moment, but she continues because I’m still whimpering and gyrating against her hand. It’s one of the more forceful and certainly the strongest orgasm I’ve had in terms of sensation, and I’m drawing out every second possible.

When I finally can’t take any more, I slow any conscious movement of my quivering hips and tip my head down, forcing my glazed eyes to focus on my laboring lover. I almost protest when she pulls her hand away, because I didn’t want her to stop completely, but when she shoves her coated fingers in her mouth with a delectable moan I get where this is going. Shuffling down the bed, Jo pauses only a second to get a glimpse and a whiff of my pussy before attaching her mouth to it. Her tongue gently stroking my hypersensitive clit is almost too much for me to handle, but in the best way. My hand threads in her hair as she cleans me up, the pulsing slowly dying down under her touch.

Johanna stays down there longer than is strictly necessary, but it’s not like I blame her. Sometimes I think I could live between her legs. But eventually she crawls back up, dragging her glistening lips through my cleavage on the way. Exhaling contentedly, she rests her forehead against mine for a second and then tugs my lower lip with her teeth, demanding a kiss that I am more than happy to give. Our combined flavors mingling on our tongues makes me groan, rubbing my palms over her bare back as I savor it.

Fingers stroking my cheek, Johanna pulls back with a shy smile. “I love you too,” she says, mouth turning up extra at her words. That makes my own lips split with a grin, and I pull her down for more kisses. It should be no surprise they get heated again rather quickly.

In my deteriorated physical and mental condition, I run out of energy much faster than back in training. Jo senses this and brings me down with a trail of sweet kisses along my jawbone after our next simultaneous orgasm. It meanders down my neck before ending on my upper chest, where she lays her head. Her hand as well, until I take it in mine and weave our fingers together, my other arm curling around her back protectively. The quiet that follows is broken only by the rumbling of the train along its track.

A new life lies ahead of me. And in my arms. Behind me is all the guilt and pressure of my performances for the cameras and for broken-hearted boys. For the first time ever, I feel free. I am free. I'm free to live my own life, to make my own choices. I choose this life. I choose her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D7P for the beta read and assistance in getting this chapter to its high potential. Most Valuable Beta. :)
> 
> Please don't be shy with the reviews, and feel free to PM me on Tumblr. I love nerding out with the Joniss community. Hearing from you guys makes my day and helps keep me motivated.


	23. Tough Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued patience. I updated my other longfic, wrote a new one shot, and was dealing with more health issues in the time since I posted the last chapter. Most importantly, this is a chapter I did not want to rush. It's a long time coming, and I hope it lives up to your expectations and makes you squeal the way it made me. :)

There’s only so much I can run from. Seven was supposed to be my fresh start, but try as I might, I can’t leave myself behind. My old memories plague me, along with some of my more self-destructive habits, such as lying motionless for hours on end ruminating on my sorrow. As the weeks pass and the excitement of moving wears off, I realize it might always be this way. Running was pointless. Everything is pointless.

Sometimes Johanna rouses me and tries to keep me occupied. Others, she lets me rest, either because she knows I lack the energy or because she lacks it. She has plenty of her own issues to deal with, much less mine. Her fear of water is as severe as it was when we moved into the compartment, if not worse. She doesn’t smell as bad as she did back in training, simply because she’s not doing as much every day, but I can tell the rags are frustrating her. At times I consider offering to help her like I did in the compartment, but her mood is always so foul during the process that I don’t want to risk it. And I hardly have the energy to bathe myself, let alone a physically and verbally violent hydrophobe.

A couple months after we arrive, I’m roused from a dazed mid-morning slumber by a hand shaking my shoulder. Through my bleary eyes, I spy Johanna looking down on me, her expression unreadable. “Wakey, wakey,” she greets me too loudly, making me wince. The slight curl of her lips informs me that that was the intended effect, and I scowl.

“What do you want?”

“For you to get up, dumbass,” chirps Johanna.

“Why?” I grouse.

“Because you haven’t left the house in three days, and because we’re low on food.” Lifting her hand, she reveals my favorite bow in her grip. “I’d rather hit the forest than the town,” she says, laying it beside me on the mattress. “I could really use my sharpshooter.” 

That stings, though I doubt it’s intentional. Jo mostly doesn’t acknowledge the physical downturn that’s accompanied my mental collapse, rendering me unable to hunt for weeks now. Even if I find the energy to leave the house, dizzy spells and nausea greet me when I overexert myself. Much like when I was recovering from my concussion. There’s no point explaining this again, though, so all I give her is an unenthused blink. She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Katniss.”

My eyes narrow at her impatient tone. “What?”

“You don’t have your ribs holding you back anymore. I shouldn’t still have to drag you out of bed.” At my continued lack of movement, she reaches over me to grab her pillow and decks me with it.

“Ow!” Shielding my head with my arms, I grumble and nuzzle back into my pillow. Suddenly I’m flat on my back, Johanna’s palms holding my shoulders down. Before I have a chance to protest, she’s dropped her face to press a lingering kiss to my lips. I’ve barely pursed my lips to respond when she starts to pull up, and I finally move enough to snag her shirt, hindering her escape. “Mm,” I hum, “that’s not motivating me to get out of bed.”

Johanna scoffs, swatting my hand away as easily as if it were a pesky gnat. “Because you’ve had such a sex drive lately.”

“I have, sometimes,” I bristle. “I’ve been tired, okay?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” deadpans Johanna. Gripping the side of the mattress, she abruptly whips her arms up, tipping it almost vertical. Tumbling the width of the queen sized bed, I land in a heap on the floor with a loud thud.

“Ow!” I protest, rubbing the shoulder that took the brunt of my weight. “Johanna, what the fuck?”

A shadow crosses my vision, and I lift my head to glare up at Johanna, who’s come around the foot of the bed to stand in front of me and the cocoon of blankets in which I am now entangled. Her eyes are unapologetic and unrelenting. “You’re going to get dressed, and you’re going to come downstairs and eat the breakfast I made for you. Then we’re going hunting. This is not a negotiation.” Pitching some clothes at me, she storms out of the room.

Though I purposely take longer than necessary out of spite, I begrudgingly obey the first order. Entering the kitchen in stony silence, I avoid eye contact with Soldier York II and plunk down at the table. As I petulantly pick at my breakfast, I find it has long gone cold, which makes it even less appetizing. It’s not that Jo is a terrible cook; even good food holds little appeal for me these days. It sticks in my mouth and throat as I force it down, objecting to its consumption as much as I do. But with Johanna looking on, my pride propels me to finish the meal despite my stomach’s protests. Closing my fist around the bow, I triumphantly push the empty plate away from me. “Where to?”

Johanna raises an eyebrow that appears impressed, if hesitantly so. “Let’s try southwest of here. Near where we found those squirrels last time.”

Despite not remembering the occasion very well, I nod as though I do. “Lead the way.” After suiting up in boots and a warmer jacket, Jo hands over my quiver just as I finish lacing my own boots. “Thanks,” I grunt. Catching a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror, a small surge of pride straightens my posture. I look thin and pale, but at least somewhat like myself, armed and clad in outdoor gear.

Palming both her throwing axes in one hand, Jo opens the door and ushers me out into the muddy center of the Victor’s Village. What little snow we had melted weeks ago, but frequent spells of rain have preserved the marshy quality of the grass and wide dirt paths. 

Only a few minutes from the house, my steady breathing turns to labored pants and a painful pressure blooms in my head. Resolving to display no weakness in front of Johanna after her remarks this morning, I struggle on. But moments later the upcoming treeline starts spinning around me, making my gut churn. Wobbling on my feet, I slowly lower myself to one knee, steadying myself with a hand on the ground. My other hand pinches my brow as I cringe into my palm, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the world.

“You okay?” Johanna’s voice filters into my consciousness, distorted and nearly drowned out by the whooshing in my ears. Her footsteps are lost in the din, but I feel her presence beside me, hear her knee pop loudly as she crouches and lays a hand on my back. “Katniss, hey,” she says, her voice now sharp and clear. “Are you okay?”

Shaking my head only amplifies the dizziness, so I stop almost immediately. My voice wavers embarrassingly as I admit, “I feel sick. I’m sorry, Jo, I can’t.”

Though she makes no effort to hide her sigh or disappointed slump, Johanna’s touch and tone are gentle as she helps me to my feet. “Okay. Let’s get you home.”

After helping me hobble back to the house, my girlfriend sets me down on the couch. I immediately curl up with my head buried in my forearms, and she scoffs, “You’re welcome.” Though this irritates me, I don’t acknowledge the dig with a response. That’s partly because I hardly feel capable of speaking. Otherwise, I _would_ have said thank you. But I find the energy when she coos, “You need a bwankie?”

My eyes snap open, hard and dangerous. “Are you mocking me?” Despite my indignant tone, I can’t say that I blame her. Memories of the stoic and determined provider I once was now taunt me from afar. I’ve become nothing. Useless. Pathetic. Still glaring, I steam, “Do you really think I want to be like this?”

“I don’t know,” retorts Johanna. “You tell me.” At my lack of response, she tosses a hand and vents, “I’m not your babysitter. At some point, you need to grow the fuck up. This isn’t cute anymore.”

A sinking feeling sends more waves of nausea crashing through my head, washing away my anger. Blinking hard, I blankly state, “You think I’m trying to be cute.”

“No,” she sighs. “I don’t think you’re trying to be anything.” Brandishing her axes once more, she scowls. “I’m going hunting. Have a nice nap, Katniss.”

***

In spite of Johanna’s directive - or perhaps to spite Johanna - I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep, what with all the negative thoughts and emotions percolating in my brain, denying it any rest. Buttercup pads over and proceeds to meow and headbutt my chest until I inch over enough to let him curl up beside my belly. His warmth spreads through my sweatshirt to my skin, providing a morsel of comfort. I should pet him. I think about it for an hour or more, but never get around to it. Only my eyes muster a little movement, tracking the shafts of light peeking through the blinds as they crawl across the wall and floor.

The light beams are fading by the time the squeaking of the front steps announces Johanna’s return, sending a jolt of anxiety to my gut. She’s probably going to sneer and mock me some more when she finds me in the exact same position she left me in. I’d rather she just yell at me.

Jo makes a few unsuccessful attempts to shoo away Buttercup before scooping a hand under his body and dropping him on the floor, culling a mixture of mewls and hisses from the cranky feline. She hisses right back at him and slides her hand under my head, supporting it as she pulls me up into a seated position. A pleasant aroma wafts from a paper bag in her other hand that’s gripping my sweatshirt. Once I’m settled, she reaches in to show me what she brought. Cheese buns. A peace offering. “You should eat something.”

I don’t feel hungry, but the smell is making my taste buds water and my stomach rumble. Stiffly I reach for the bun and take a tentative bite of it, eyes squeezing shut as my teeth puncture the warm, fragrant crust. I’m still working on the bun when Jo returns from fridging her kills, handing me a glass of water. “Here. Drink.” As I sip it, she settles beside me, sighing and rubbing her face with her palms. With a sheepish smirk, she admits, “I might have taken the tough love a little too far.” Swallowing a bite of bread, I raise an eyebrow. “Dr. Aurelius has encouraged me to try to keep you engaged, to not enable these wallowing tendencies of yours that only make things worse.”

My face scrunches with distaste. I’ve been speaking with the doctor twice weekly at my mother’s behest, but I had no idea he was discussing me with Johanna. “Fuck Dr. Aurelius.”

“He’s not really my type.” Jo’s saucy grin fades as her eyes drift away, teeth dragging over her lower lip. Shoulders slumping, she expels a tired sigh. “I thought you’d be happy here. With me.”

“So did I,” I confess. Her mouth twitches glumly, eyes still downcast. My heart twinges in my chest and I slide a hand along her thigh, curling it around the inside of her knee. “It’s not your fault. I think being in the Capitol, dealing with the election and all, it kept me moving. Once I got here, I could stop. And I did.” An ironic snort pops out as I recall the last time I saw my mother. We have more in common than I like to admit. “It’s harder to get going again after that. Even somewhere new.”

Fingers brush along the back of my hand, then slip underneath it to weave between mine. A sense of relief washes over me as Jo squeezes my hand. “I miss you.”

“I miss me too.” Nervously tapping my fingertips against her thigh, I muse, “Once I stopped, reality hit me again, everything I’ve lost. I thought leaving the Capitol behind, I’d stop dreaming about the bombs all the time.”

Jo expels a sharp breath, shaking her head. “That’ll never happen, trust me,” she says, pulling her hand back into her lap. “I still dream about the fire. Often.”

My eyes narrow as I draw back my own hand. “You’re so encouraging.”

“You need to deal with it,” she declares. “Running from the pain doesn’t help. Drinking numbs it. At least if you face your grief, it stops controlling you.”

I snort. “Did the doc tell you to say that, too?”

“I’m speaking from my own experience here. Sometimes it helps to just get angry.”

“I am angry,” I snap. “I’m pissed that Prim was even there. That Coin put her in harm’s way, and that everyone else in Thirteen just let her go.”

A flash of emotion sparks in Johanna’s eyes as her shoulders sag. “You still blame me for that.”

I shake my head. “No. I blame myself for not keeping a closer eye on her because I was so busy being obsessed with you.”

Johanna’s jaw drops open, eyes narrowed incredulously. “You weren’t obsessed with me, you were obsessed with killing Snow! We both were. If that weren’t true, you wouldn’t have gone to the Capitol without me, and I wouldn’t have encouraged you to. It was your revenge vendetta that distracted you, not me.” She growls under her breath, nails digging into her thigh. “I told you revenge wasn’t all I cared about anymore, but it was still all you cared about. You risked everything, _everyone_ , on a suicide mission against orders. That’s a fucking obsession.”

Taking a few seconds to digest this, I conclude, “So you still blame me for Finnick.”

Jo has the slightest of hesitations before shaking her head. “Finnick made his own choices,” she states evenly. “So did Prim.”

“She was too young to make those choices.”

“Weren’t you too young to volunteer into a death match to save her?” Dragging her fingers through her hair, Jo admits, “I didn’t want her to go either, but your mom was with her, and I figured she’d keep her out of any real danger.”

Snorting bitterly, I retort, “If you knew my mother well enough, you’d know better than to trust her to take care of Prim.”

Jaw slack once again, Johanna’s face darkens. “You know, for how much you hate on your mom, you pull a lot of the same shit. A real chip off the old block.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m serious,” she insists. “Good thing Peeta didn’t actually knock you up - you can barely be bothered to feed yourself, let alone anyone else.” Twitching her eyebrows up, she remarks, “I’m starting to get why you resent her so much.”

Tremors run down my arms, curling my fingers as my face bursts into flames. My voice balloons dangerously as I demand, “Why are you being such a bitch?”

“Because you won’t get better if you don’t try. This isn’t you. It’s like you’re happy with being capable of jack shit.”

“Do I look happy to you?” I seethe. “Do I, really? And fuck you, I’m capable of plenty. At least I can fucking bathe myself.”

For a brief moment, I feel a visceral kind of satisfaction at landing such a blow, striking back for all the insults she’s thrown my way. The way her eyes and mouth have fallen open in shock gives the impression that I’ve slapped her, which serves her fucking right. Except that, rather than flaming from impact, her cheeks have drained of color. She almost looks woozy. The guilt strikes me without warning, constricting my stomach, and I stretch out a conciliatory hand. “Jo…”

Johanna smacks my hand away, still speechless. With a disbelieving scoff, she slowly shakes her head. “Peeta was right,” she finally says, voice tense and nearly breaking. “You are a piece of work.”

“Don’t fucking bring Peeta into this,” I warn her through gritted teeth, heat rising in my tightening cheeks.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Jo gasps, “Oh, sorry. Are we supposed to be avoiding touchy subjects?” The hardness in her eyes contrasts her feigned contrition and only angers me further.

“Why is it okay for you to say all these horrible things to me, but the second I go back at you, suddenly I’m the bad guy?” I demand. “You can give it, but you can’t take it, Johanna. And you say I’m too sensitive.”

“You have no concept of what is an acceptable thing to say to another human being, do you?” she condescends, shaking her head in disbelief. “What is fucking wrong with you?”

“Ask Dr. Aurelius,” I snap. “Probably something to do with being forced to murder people.”

Johanna rolls her eyes. “Take some responsibility for yourself, Katniss. I had to murder people too.”

“And you’re doing so well,” I snark.

“At least I’m trying, not lying around like some kind of leech who can’t do anything for herself.”

“Guess I’m making up for lost time,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “All those years of keeping everyone else alive.”

“Right,” Johanna snorts dismissively. “You and your dead daddy issues.”

Now it’s my jaw slipping open. But before it falls too far, I clench it tight, a hot sensation prickling in my brain and all but blinding me. Unable to form words worthy of my fury, I slap Johanna right across her smug little face. With all my strength behind the blow, her chin just about smacks into her shoulder. As she slowly turns her face back, Jo’s eyes zero in on me, and I freeze like a prey staring down the shaft of my arrow. I see it coming, but I can’t block the fist coming straight for my cheekbone.

The impact jars me more than it hurts, blurring my vision momentarily. While I’m blinking it back into focus, I feel the couch shifting. Now standing and glaring down at me, both cheeks flushed red, Johanna points a tremulous finger in my face and spits, “Fuck you, Everdeen.” Then she spins and makes for the door. I’m on my feet almost instantly.

“Oh, don’t you walk away from me, you little shit!” I bellow, marching closer. “We’re not done.”

“I think we are,” she snaps over her shoulder, stopping me in my tracks as she snatches a boot from the floor and attempts to jam her foot inside. The double meaning is far from lost on me. I don’t want her to leave in either sense. Even when I can’t stand her, she’s all I want.

Closing the gap, I knock the boot out of her hands, grab her by the upper arms and shove her into the wall face first, pinning her there. “Let me go!” she snarls, thrashing around in my grasp.

“Never,” I growl, only clutching her tighter. Her heel comes down hard on my toe, making me yelp and lose my grip just long enough for her to spin around and get her hands on my throat. Panic overtakes me and I shoot my hands up to clamp around her wrists, squeezing the blood out of them as her eyes bore into mine.

Maybe this will be the moment she rips my throat out like she promised. All the muscles in her face have hardened, her breaths coming sharply through her flaring nostrils as her nails scrape at my neck. She’s only restricting my airway a little, but after the incident with Peeta I can’t help the way my heart is battering against my chest. The way she’s looking at me doesn’t hurt either. I’m gulping and wondering why this is turning me on a little when she lunges forward and attacks my lips, tearing at one with her teeth before jamming her tongue in my mouth. I can’t do much but gasp in response, inadvertently opening wider for the feisty girl who’s now gripping my collar and clawing at my clavicle.

Twisting my sweatshirt in her hands, Jo backs me up against a wall hard and holds me there. She chomps on my lip and gives it a hard suck, releasing it with a pop as she straightens her elbows to push herself an arm’s length away. Blood seeps onto my tongue, filling my mouth with the coppery flavor while I stare Jo down, unsure why she stopped. Deciding it doesn’t matter, I bring my forearms up between hers and snap them out to the sides, breaking her grip on me. Thrusting my palms into her chest, I send her stumbling back a couple steps. As I storm toward her, she momentarily looks stunned or unsure, or something. But as soon as my hands and lips are on her, any hesitation on her part evaporates.

Yanking on my braid with a snarl, Johanna buries her face in my neck and leaves a series of hard, deep bites along the rope of muscle, not deterred in the least by my pained gasps and whimpers. The only reason she stops is because the hood of my sweatshirt gets in her way. Suddenly both hands are on the shirt and spinning me around, shoving me so I fall back on the couch. No sooner do I hit the cushions than Johanna is pouncing on me, hands on the sweater again, trying to pull it over my head. I assist her in the effort and send it flying into the kitchen.

My legs lock around Johanna’s hips as her hands slip under my t-shirt and fight their way past my brastrap. Her fingers squeeze the soft flesh beneath and tug my nipples hard, causing me to whimper and wince some more but also arch my back, my underwear flooding with arousal despite the pain. Or perhaps because of it.

Not bothering to undo my bra, Jo wrestles it and my shirt over my head, spikes them on the ground. “You stubborn little son of a bitch,” she hisses into my mouth, roughly taking it once more. Only too glad to prove her right, I catch her tongue between my teeth and bite down hard, refusing to release it for several seconds even in the face of her pained mewls. Then I shove her upright before she has a chance to recover, sitting up with her in my lap, nabbing her shirt and pulling it over her head.

“Fucking asshole,” I growl, ripping open her bra and throwing it to the floor. Johanna responds with a growl of her own and by leaning forward, forcing me onto my back again. Bracing one palm on my chest to hold me down, she shuffles back on her knees. Her gaze barely relents when she reaches for my belt buckle, one eyebrow arching. It takes me a second to get it, but when I do, I give her one hard, decisive nod.

Nimbly unbuckling my belt, Jo yanks my pants and underwear down my legs, aided only slightly by my kicks. Springing back on top of me, she sinks her teeth into the unmarred side of my neck, palming and kneading my breasts. My aroused gasping and heels digging into her back catch her attention and she reaches down again to bury her fingers inside me. Lifting my hips to meet her thrust, I groan loudly, burning and aching for her in a way I haven’t for some time. I can feel myself leaking onto the couch, but I’m too turned on to give a shit about the upholstery at the moment.

Johanna’s mouth has taken over for her hand, suckling and circling my nipple and driving me fucking mad, but there is one place conspicuously lacking attention. When I reach down to remedy that, she deliberately covers my clit with her palm. Her lips turn up against my skin as I huff into the air, and she pushes harder, deeper. Nostrils flaring, I pant and rock against her fingers, but this isn’t the best way to get me off, and she knows it. My frustration bubbles to the surface and I gnarl in her ear as I lock my knees tight around her and roll, landing on top of her on the carpet.

“You little fucker,” I spit in her face as she stares up at me, eyes wide with shock. And maybe something else. Still glowering, I curl my hands under her waistband, thumbs moving to pop the button. Tight to begin with, Johanna’s pants cling to her thighs with the day’s sweat, making peeling them off all but impossible - certainly too frustrating for me in my current state. “Fuck it,” I grumble, grabbing both waistbands and wrenching them as far down and out of the way as possible. Leaving her knees glued together, pants turned partially inside out, I worm my hand between her legs.

A wanton moan echoes out of the girl’s chest as I sink three fingers into her dripping wet warmth, deep and slow. “Fuck,” she draws out. “Katniss.” Establishing a deliberately sluggish but hard rhythm, I settle on one forearm and sink my teeth into the side of her breast. She whimpers and wriggles, but I continue, littering her chest with marks but avoiding her painfully erect nipples. Revenge is so very sweet.

At some point Johanna can’t take it anymore and reaches in to massage the stiff peaks herself, but I swat one hand away and block the other with my head. She tries again and I nab her wrist midair, wrestling it down to pin it above her head. Her burning eyes narrow and she reaches down with her remaining hand to rake her nails up my back. With a low growl I pick up my pace inside her, still pushing hard and deep, and finally wrap my lips around one of her straining nipples. She moans and arches into my mouth, struggling anew to free her captive hand, but I squeeze her wrist tighter. The tiny pained noise she makes in response doesn’t inspire any mercy on my part, but it does cause a throb in my groin and make me suck harder.

A sudden yank on my braid stuns me, my hands losing their strength for an instant as my mouth pops right off her breast. It is long enough for Johanna to wrest her arm free. Instead of going for her free nipple as I expected, she reaches down between my legs. As she enters me again, Johanna buries her nails in the flesh just above my hip and squeezes hard. It hurts, but I notice as she continues clawing at me that it also seems to be accentuating the pleasure her other hand is giving me, especially once she starts rubbing her thumb over my clit. So I gladly endure the pain, rocking my hips and groaning into her chest.

Whether it’s the pleasure I’m causing her or the pain she’s causing me, Johanna begins to all but shake under me, her gasps and moans now filling the air as I speed up and add my thumb into the mix to return the favor. Grunting out my exertion and aggression, I bite her nipple and give the other a twist. Suddenly she’s yelling, spilling all over my hand and strangling my fingers, shuddering as I continue to suck and roll her nipples, gradually slowing inside her.

When she comes to her senses, Jo growls and wraps her free hand in my braid, giving my hair a firm tug to guide my ear to her mouth. She echoes the gasp I make and pulls her sopping fingers out of me, roughly putting them to work on my clit. Making her come has already dragged me close to the brink, and her heavy breathing in my ear is expediting that journey. With her focus now on a more ideal spot and the pain in my scalp heightening every sensation, my body is quaking in a matter of moments. Johanna bears down, twisting her fist harder as her fingers fly over my throbbing nub. A cry climbs out of my throat and I seize up, groin exploding with pleasure. My arms fail and I collapse into her chest before I finish riding it out, but she is kind enough to compensate with her fingers.

Johanna’s grip on my hair loosens as she slows her movements and I start gasping air into my heavy body. Finally able to draw back and look at her face, I take a glimpse and quickly wish I hadn’t. The anger still smoldering there, I was expecting. We both gave each other plenty of reason to be pissed. What’s worse is the hurt brimming in her eyes. I’ve seen pain in those eyes many a time, as much as she tried to hide it, and have always prided myself on taking it away. Not causing more. But once again I’ve said something knowingly cutting and cruel out of frustration. Ripping open poorly healed wounds seems to be my specialty.

Apologies are insufficient. And I’m not sure she deserves one anyway, with the things she said to me. So when I lay a gentle kiss between her eyes, I don’t say sorry. I say, “Stay.”

Something that resembles a snort but catches like a sob comes out of Johanna’s throat. Her hand caresses my cheek and I sink into it, eyelashes fluttering against her finger. “As if I could ever leave.”

Her whispered words make my lips turn up against her palm before they leave a kiss there. Chancing another look at her face, I find the anger dissolved, replaced with wry humor. But the hurt in her eyes remains. My face falls, brain whirring with words I could say to heal the damage I’ve caused. But words can only do so much, and I’ve never been good at them anyway.

It takes a couple pecks at Johanna’s mouth before she opens up for me, but when she does, I probe her tongue into a slow, deep kiss. She sighs into the contact, fingering my cheek once more and wrapping her other arm around my back. Her breathing is just starting to intensify when I pull back with a teasing suck of her lip and get to my feet. Johanna scoffs, tipping her head back to look up the length of my naked body. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Upstairs.” My tone has gone gravelly and it makes her eyes widen just a touch. Canting my head to the side, I extend a hand. “You coming?” Her eyes narrow as she peers up at me, but after a few seconds she nods and grabs my hand. Helping her to her feet, I step on the crotch of her pants as she stands, forcing them down her legs. “You won’t be needing those.”

“Someone’s got her appetite back,” remarks Jo as she steps out of them and peels off her socks.

“Mm hm,” I hum noncommittally. Grabbing her hips, I spin her around and shove her lightly toward the stairs. She chuckles dangerously at the dominant gesture, but either she secretly likes it or just decides to let it go, because she allows me to guide her up the stairs, hand on the small of her back. There is a brief delay when she turns around and pulls me into another rough kiss by the back of my neck, but I get us moving again, backing her up the last few steps and down the hall.

Her hands are wound in my hair as we enter the bedroom, her bites of my lip now playful. Seemingly lost in the kiss, she doesn’t clue in when I steer us toward the attached bathroom. Not until her heel meets tile and her hands snap out to grip the doorframe, eyes suddenly huge. Her breathing quick and shallow, she stares up at me, gaze darkening with betrayal. “Why?” she spits. “To make you feel better?”

There’s no use denying that’s part of it, but I truthfully add, “And to make you feel better.”

“You really think this-” she gestures at the bathtub- “will make me feel better?”

“Yes.” Tipping my head a little, I calmly raise an eyebrow. “What was that you said about facing your grief?”

“This isn’t just grief.”

“I know.” Massaging her fists open, I gently pull them from the frame and lace our fingers together, walking her back a few more steps. “But I’ll face it with you.” Slowly turning her to face the tub, I press my lips to the top of her shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Clenching her fists, she manages a weak, “No.”

“Come on.” When she doesn’t budge, I place my hands on her hips and utter an authoritative, “Johanna.” With my thumbs prodding at the back of her pelvis, she takes a deep breath and shakily lifts one leg over the lip of the tub, then the other. “Good,” I praise her. “Good girl.” Her shivers continue, spreading into my hands splayed on her waist, and I step in behind her.

Eyes wide, she turns in my arms. “Katniss, I don’t w-”

“Yes, you do. And you can.” Handing her the bar of soap, I hold her gaze steadily. “I believe in you.” That statement seems to knock the breath right out of Johanna’s lungs, but after a moment of gaping at me she sucks it back in, standing up tall. My eyes flit over her newly set jaw and the hard, determined lines in her face. “Would you rather have a bath?”

Chuckling half-heartedly, she shakes her head. “Be submerged, after the Block? No thank you.” As I shift to step toward the faucet, she grips my wrist tightly. “Don’t go.”

“Staying right here,” I assure her, gently easing out of her grasp. Hands on the taps, I catch her eye. “Ready?”

“No.” Her tone being slightly facetious, I cock my head and an eyebrow. Teeth playing at her lip, she gives me a slight nod, prompting me to turn on the water. The first burbles and splashes falling around my ankles make her gasp and recoil, dropping the soap as she flattens against the wall. The blanching of her face and the way her fingers claw fruitlessly at the slippery tiles gives me second thoughts. But as I straighten up and edge my way over, her gaze hardens under my concerned one. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Grabbing her jaw, I sandwich her between me and the tile and kiss her aggressively, hoping to infect her with what little bravery and confidence I hold. The water level rises despite the open drain, and I pull away with waves licking at my heels. “If you really can’t do this…”

“Thought you believed in me,” pants Jo, in a weak attempt to be saucy.

“I do,” I confirm, rolling my eyes.

Wriggling in my grasp to face the wall behind her, she plants her palms on the tile and braces herself. “Do it.”

Leaving a kiss on her shoulder that procures a shiver, I return to the taps and pull the lever to turn on the shower. Squeaks from the plumbing fill the air for an agonizing second, and then the water is shooting out of the showerhead and raining on Johanna’s back. She tenses up but doesn’t move, and as I come closer, blocking some of the spray, her ragged breathing becomes audible over the sound of the water striking the tub and walls. My hand on her back seems to pull her back to reality, and she straightens up.

When she turns around, I try to hand her the soap again, but she shakes her head and wordlessly reaches for the bottle of shampoo. My eyebrows arch. In the compartment, we never got to the point where she could tolerate water on her head or face. I consider telling her she doesn’t have to prove anything to me, but I know it would be useless. She’s being propelled by the same impulse that caused me to keep walking this morning until I almost passed out. We always feel the need to prove our strength to the other, even when we have none. It’s how we dragged ourselves out of bed every morning during training.

Johanna cups her hand under the spray until it fills, getting just enough water to moisten her short locks. Her eyes widen at the sensation of water touching her scalp, but she clenches her jaw and squirts some shampoo into her palm before the fear can paralyze her. Keeping her eyes on me, on reality, she lathers up her hair with a series of deep breaths. They are forced, but steady. Then, squeezing her eyes shut, she backs underneath the spray.

Tremors in Johanna’s knees prompt me to reach out and steady her, fingertips on her hips. The touch only seems to ground her so much, a small whimper still escaping her lips. Knowing what best grounded me during my panic attacks, I loudly recite, “Your name is Johanna Mason. The Capitol has fallen. You’re home in District 7. You’re with Katniss Everdeen.” A shuddering sigh pushes out of Johanna, and her hands begin to move, assisting the rinsing effort. “The Capitol has fallen,” I repeat. “The Capitol has fallen, and you’re home. You’re with me.”

Johanna gasps as she steps out of the line of fire, eyes wild but thankfully focused. Drawing her into my arms, I press a kiss to her forehead before letting it rest against my cheek. “I’m here,” I whisper, rubbing her back with my empty hand. “We’re free. We’re home. No one is going to hurt you here.”

Snuffling into my shoulder, Jo pulls back to meet my gaze. She finally regains her voice, though it is thick with the tears brimming over in her eyes. “Give me that,” she demands, snatching the soap.

She saves her face for last, though I’m unsure if that’s because she’s dreading it or because she doesn’t want to cry on a clean face. If it’s the latter, it’s a wasted effort, because tears are still streaming down her cheeks as we exit the tub. Quivering against my chest as I wrap a towel around her shoulders, she asks, “Why did you make me do that?”

“You could’ve fought me off. Could’ve bolted.” Grabbing a second towel, I ruffle it through her wet hair, soaking up as much as I can. “You needed that.” Johanna catches my eye and reluctantly nods in agreement. Once I’m done with her hair, I flick the towel to hang over my shoulder, take her face in both hands and give her a firm closed-mouth kiss. “I’m proud of you.”

Johanna snorts, averting her eyes. “Thanks.”

“I am,” I insist. “I get it’s not something you want to be proud of. Like I don’t want to be proud of walking for five minutes straight or getting out of bed in the morning.” She looks up, and I give my mouth a sheepish twitch. “Celebrate the small victories, remember?”

Toweling off with a sigh, she says, “If that’s all we have, we might as well.”

Both of us too exhausted to cook, we eat a dinner of cheese buns and old celery dipped in ketchup, which is about all we have left in the house that requires zero effort. We barely make it into bed. Unsure what to expect, I’m flooded with relief when Johanna wriggles over and latches onto my side. Curling my arm under her head and around her shoulders, I pull her closer and wrap her up tightly. I’ve missed the weight of her head on my chest, the way she clings to me for comfort. Feeling like I can protect her, like she trusts me to.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch,” I mumble, nails grazing over her upper arm. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. Or hit you.”

Johanna’s chuckle reverberates in my chest as she reaches for my other hand, weaving our fingers together. “Me neither. This shit’s bound to happen from time to time, with the two of us.” Her glinting brown eyes flick up to mine. “But don’t tell me you don’t like a little scuffle, Mockingjay.”

It would be a lie if I said otherwise. So I don’t.

***

The tea in my mug has long stopped steaming. Our west facing front stoop is great for sitting and watching sunsets, but it gets no light in the mornings, and the wooden planks are still frosty despite the mid-morning hour. The cold is uncomfortable on my ass, but feels good on my face. Makes me feel something, at least until the skin goes numb. Like the rest of me.

The fading sunrise in our bedroom window greeted me when I woke this morning, a rare treat. My penchant for being an early riser died in the Capitol, when I arrived with the troops. Without Johanna. She was passed out on her stomach beside me when I came to, and I decided to let her sleep after that trying day. Since two can playing the proving oneself game, I forced myself to fry up some rabbit meat and scramble a few eggs, brew a pot of tea. I ate standing by the sink, fearing that once I sat down, I would be unable to move again. Turns out, I was right. I haven’t even raised my tea from my lap in what must be half an hour.

Creaking inside the house alerts me to Johanna’s impending arrival, gives me the presence of mind to lift my leaden hands and take another sip of tea. She must notice the cracked door on her way down the stairs, because she joins me a few moments later with a plate of food. “Tea was cold,” she observes as she settles an inch to my right. Her words form tiny puffs of fog as they leave her mouth, swirling into the frigid air and disintegrating. “You’ve been up awhile.” Mustering a slight nod, I sip the brew once more.

“How’s your eye?” she asks, pulling on my chin to get a look at the bruised side of my face.

“Seems fine,” I mumble. She pecks my tender cheekbone and I tilt my face up to get a quick one on the lips too.

Bird calls and the scratching of utensils against her ceramic plate are all that fill the air for the next several minutes, and my eyes stay fixed on the trees in the distance. Since I became a forest creature of sorts in Twelve, they have provided me with a sense of comfort and security. Even in the arenas. I’m recalling the rough feeling of bark under my fingers, the pungent scent of sap, when a warm pressure growing on my shoulder pulls me back to the present. Giving in with a sigh, I let my head list to the side, smushing my cheek against the top of Jo’s wool knit cap. The scratchy fabric irritates my skin, but I don’t feel like moving. For multiple reasons.

She’s the one who breaks the contact sometime later, rising with a grunt of protest at her stiff legs. Plucking the mostly empty mug from my loose grip, she grabs her plate and disappears inside, kicking the door shut behind her. I’m suddenly freezing cold, despite the quickly warming air. The sun is peeking over our rooftop now, slowly eating up the shadow at my feet. There’s some racket echoing out from the entrance hallway, but I don’t turn my head until I hear the door open and close again.

Axes tucked in her belt, Johanna is holding my bow and quiver. Taking one end of the bow, she pokes me in the butt with the other. “Time to go hunting, brainless.”

My shoulders slump as she walks down the steps to stand at my feet. “I don’t think I can make it,” I confess.

Slinging the strap of my quiver over my head and into the crook of my shoulder, she adjusts its positioning across my chest. Firmly she replies, “This is no time for excuses.” She thrusts the bow into my hands. “We’re victors, remember?”

The smile sneaking onto her face brings a small one to mine. “Anything they throw at us.”

“That’s right,” she nods. Turning around, she pats the back of her hip as I laboriously get to my feet. My brow furrows for a second, then a sharp laugh pushes out of my lips. Johanna glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” she scowls.

My headshake is more in disbelief than in response to her question. I’m slimmer and less of a burden - at least in terms of weight - than usual, but Jo’s hardly in prime shape either. Her glower is only deepening, so I crack, “Is this going to turn into some joke about how I don’t pull my own weight, literally?”

“Just get on my back, Everdeen,” she grouses. “Never thought I’d have to tell you twice.”

Biting my lip to suppress a smirk, I hook the bow over my shoulder and mount her back, cinching my legs around her waist. My arms hang loosely over her chest, and I end up bracing my forearms on her shoulders to support my upper body. “This must look ridiculous,” I grunt as she starts walking, steering us toward the woods not far behind the house. “Like a giant riding a fucking pony.”

“Shut the fuck up unless you want me to drop you on your ass in the forest and never come back, Beetee,” Johanna shoots over her shoulder.

“Ouch,” I draw out, slightly more impressed than offended by her quick wit. “Okay, then.” But I can’t resist one more dig as we approach the treeline. Bouncing a heel off her inner thigh as she walks, I tease her, “Kinda reminds me of the training field.”

I can hear the roll of her eyes as she drawls, “Ha ha.”

It is the old Katniss's favorite kind of day. Early spring. The woods awakening after the long winter. Creatures rustle about in the brush, bolting from Johanna’s uncharacteristically heavy footsteps as she supports the both of us. This is surely not the most effective way to hunt, but she seems very bent on it for some reason, so I don’t argue. Several minutes into the forest, she sets me down on a log. At my curious squint, she instructs me, “Just listen.” Sitting down beside me, she takes my hand. “Watch. Feel.”

So I do. I listen to the flutter of wings, the skitter of claws along branches. Watch the soft evergreen boughs fluttering in the breeze. Feel the damp moss cushioning my free hand and soaking through my underwear, chilling my butt cheeks. The scent of pine hangs thickly in the air, much like it did amidst the cluster of them I found near the compound in Thirteen. Jo squeezes my hand and tears start streaming down my cheeks, leaving cold streaks in their wake. She brought me out here for my sanity. Like when I took her hunting in Thirteen. Leave it to Johanna Mason to know exactly what I need.

My lips are on hers before I even register thinking about it. Hers open reflexively and I slip my tongue through them, tasting the heat of her mouth and probing her own tongue into a response. Lifting her other hand to cup my cheek, she drags my lip slowly through her teeth, pulling a wanting sigh from my lungs. Fisting the sleeve of her jacket, I push forward and kiss her harder, my breaths coming heavier through my nose. She moans a little into the contact, holding me fast.

This goes on awhile, remaining intense but slow. Eventually Jo breaks the liplock and rests her forehead against mine, her panting quiet and lips trembling. Once she catches her breath, she grins and knocks her knee against mine. “Go on,” she urges me. “Shoot something.”

With a conspiratorial grin of my own, I give her a final peck and rise to my feet. Retrieving the bow from my shoulder, I draw an arrow and slip into the trees to track down any prey we haven’t yet scared off. It takes a bit of patience, but I find and follow a trail of distant chirping over and down a stream bubbling with runoff from the mountains. The birds are concealed in the high branches of a tree, so I pluck a pebble from the ground and shoot it at the highest point of the trunk I can easily see. The crack of the rock against the tree sends the birds scattering, and I already have an arrow at the ready.

An indescribable satisfaction blooms in my chest as my target plummets from the sky. Much of what I was has fallen away. Mockingjay, soldier, sister. But if nothing else, I am a hunter. As I start toward the kill, I feel eyes on me and spin around, bow loaded in a flash. Johanna is the only predator in sight, raising her hands in peace. “Nice shot.”

“Thanks.” Scooping up the bird, I yank the arrow from its neck and slip it in my quiver. “Tagged along to watch the show?”

“Duh, brainless. You know your shooting turns me on.” Fingering the blade of one of her axes, she suggests, “You want a show too? I seem to remember you like that.” As I narrow my eyes, hers dart over my body in a way that appears more concerned than sexual, but she quickly recovers her mojo with an exaggerated wink. “Or do you want to go home? I can always do it later. With less clothes on.”

Shooting her a droll, “I’ll keep that in mind,” I begin my retreat to the high ground. Her concern irks me a little, mostly because I know it’s warranted. By the time we reach the place I crossed the overflowing stream, I am short of breath and have to stop for a moment, hunched over with my hands on my knees.

Picking up the bird from where I dropped it, Johanna casually inquires, “You need a lift?”

“No, I’ll walk back,” I answer, waving her off. “I’m fine. I’m just out of shape.” And I do feel fine, for the moment. But the spurt of energy that began with the kiss fades away. By the time we reach the edge of the forest, I'm so sick and dizzy, I have to take a knee. Failing within sight of the house is an extra indignity that makes me drive a fist weakly into the ground, sending pain reverberating up my arm.

“Hey, hey,” says Johanna, bending down to lay a comforting palm on my back. “It’s okay.” She curls her hands under my armpits, but I push them away before she can help me up.

“I can do it,” I growl. “I just need a minute.” Retracting her hands, she backs away. Once the world settles again, I summon enough strength to get back to my feet, the hardest part. Keep moving, Katniss. Keep fucking moving.

A few paces from our back door, I stumble, but Jo is there to right me. I curse under my breath as I grab onto the railing, but when she turns my face, I see that hers is beaming. “Don’t,” she tells me. “It’s okay. You did well.” Helping me strip off my boots and jacket, she guides me to the sofa in the living room and pulls a blanket over my weary body. Just before I drift out of consciousness, I hear her say one last thing. 

“I’m proud of you, too.”

***

Sometime after Johanna’s voice puts me to sleep, it wakes me back up, tone and volume spiking with surprise. “In Twelve? Really?” My brow furrows, eyes fluttering open. Do we have company? That would be a first. “But when will that be?” No, Johanna’s behind me, in the armchair by the phone. Rolling over, I peek over the arm of the couch in time to see her nodding into the receiver. “So what can I do until then?”

As I stand, her eyes flick over to me and she mouths an apology, though she still appears to be listening intently to whoever it is on the other end of the call. “Yeah, I looked in the book, but we don’t have all the same herbs out here, you know.” Well, that solves that mystery.

Settling on her lap, I drape an arm over her shoulders and lean closer to listen in. “… should help,” are the first words I can make out clearly. “And keep up the physical activity and sunshine. They can work wonders.”

“Consider it done,” answers Jo. Lifting her head to make eye contact, she mouths, “Wanna talk to her?” When I shake my head, she says aloud, “Hey, I gotta get going. Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime,” replies Mom. “Give Katniss my love.”

“Will do.”

Once the phone is securely back in its cradle, I speak. “Looking for cures?”

“They’re building a medicinal plant in Twelve,” Jo says to the floor. “Once that’s up and running, there should be more available for everyone. Apparently, there’s a lot of sick and mentally disoriented people out there.” She finally looks up, her expression somewhat embarrassed. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to try some, I just wanted to know what was available first.”

“If you’re so close with Dr. Aurelius, maybe you should ask him to send some out here,” I deadpan. Making a point to even out my tone, I add, “He might be able to swing it for a celebrity patient like me.”

Johanna examines my face a moment, ascertaining my level of seriousness. “Didn’t think you’d be so receptive.”

“Nothing else seems to be working,” I gripe. Picking at my thumb with my forefinger, I confess, “I guess I thought being with you would solve all my problems. Like I could be happy again.”

“You can,” Jo assures me, taking my hand and stilling it. “I just can’t do it for you.” I raise a surprised eyebrow and she shrugs. “I shouldn’t have assumed that I was inadequate, or that you weren’t trying.”

“I wasn’t really trying,” I admit. Her eyes narrow a little, forcing mine away. “It’s not that I want to be sad, I just…” I’m constantly exhausted. Being happy would feel wrong. Wallowing is strangely gratifying. Numerous other motivational barriers.

After a moment of silence, Jo gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m still not over my family either. But I’ve always gotten more angry than sad, so it was probably easier for me to keep going.”

“Probably.” I’m still mulling things over, but eventually catch her eye guiltily. “I didn’t realize this was taking so much out of you too.” She merely blinks in acknowledgement. Holding her gaze earnestly, I tell her, “Look, stay on my ass about it, I’m gonna need that. But I’ll try harder now. I promise.”

Wrapping her arm around my waist, Johanna gives me a determined nod. “So will I.”

***

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. In addition to the daily routine I establish, I force myself to go hunting at least three times a week, even if I have to rest a bunch. Eventually, I come to look forward to it. When my motivation is lacking, I can always count on Johanna to hold me to my word and drag me out of the house. I scavenge the herbs Mom recommends from the forest and take the medicine Dr. Aurelius sends me. The head pills don’t help my mood all that much at first, but they do boost my energy and sex drive, both of which Johanna is grateful for.

Letters arrive, in time. Periodic updates from Effie and Annie, sending news and their love. Haymitch occasionally adds his own ornery observations to Effie’s correspondences, and they’re always good for a much-needed laugh. My mother calls and I actually answer the phone.

Some days are still hard. My birthday is barely tolerable what with the family memories associated with it, but then Prim’s rolls around.

And all my progress comes to a crashing halt.

We regress as far as Johanna flipping the mattress to get me out of bed and me starting a shouting match on that morning in late May. She wants to hold me to my routine and prevent a relapse, and I want a day to mourn my beloved sister who forever changed my life when she came into the world fourteen years ago. Fourteen. She didn’t even make it that far. And she’s the best person I’ve ever known.

Since Johanna can’t flip the entire couch, I plant myself there, staring at the ceiling and drowning in tears and memories of that fateful dawn in the Circle. Over half a year later, and the visions of fire are as vivid as ever. I imagine they always will be. That just makes it harder to bear.

Besides forcing breakfast down my throat and failing to convince me to get some fresh air, Johanna spends her morning watching me nervously and fidgeting because I refuse to let her touch me. I know she only wants to help, but I am still mad at her and don’t have the capacity to feel sorry for anyone else today. Not even my mother, who thankfully has the good sense not to call.

When lunchtime rolls around, Johanna insists I come to the table rather than eat on the couch, and I find out why once she’s cleared the dishes. My gut plummets as she whips out Prim’s deck of cards and taps it against the table. “Johanna…”

Her eyes hold a quiet insistence as they catch mine. “Let’s stop trying to forget Prim’s death. It’s not working. Let’s remember her life instead,” she says. Unable to speak, I stare at Johanna through prickling eyes. “I never taught you how to play slap,” she points out. The deck taps the edge of the table a few more times, deep brown eyes falling to it. “It was her favorite.”

For whatever reason, I decide to humor her. Maybe I do have some capacity for empathy after all. The distraction is also good motivation. “Okay,” I concede. “Show me.”

“It’s easy,” Jo explains as she begins doling out the cards. “We take turns putting one card face up in the middle. Anytime a card is the same number as the previous one, the first person to slap the card gets the pile. Jacks are wild - you can always slap on a jack. Point of the game is to collect the whole deck. When you run out of cards, you get one more chance to slap the deck, then you’re out.”

“Sounds like a good spot of violence,” I remark dryly.

Johanna smirks into her collar. “I should teach you how to play spoons.”

“What?”

“It’s a dogfight. But we'd need friends to play it. That might have to wait until… never.” There’s a glint in her eye as she catches mine, and I snort inwardly. It’s a strange kind of relief. Didn’t think I’d manage anything even remotely resembling a laugh today.

Johanna was right, not that I care to admit it. The distraction and exertion of the game slowly pull me out of the pit I willingly fell into this morning. It takes several rounds, but I eventually summon enough focus to beat her. When her palm slaps the top of my hand on top of the last of the cards, I stick my tongue out at her triumphantly. As I begin shuffling the deck, she chuckles into her lap and I demand, “What?”

“Prim used to do that,” she explains, cautiously catching my eye. My clumsy shuffling gives me an excuse to look down. “Do you know what she said to me after you got shot?”

I blink up. “No. What?”

“Well, when you got back,” she corrects herself. “You were in surgery, I guess to remove your spleen, and she came to visit and told me, ‘Don’t worry, her suit was bulletproof. Her boobs are intact.’”

My lips turn up, in spite of my efforts. “And what did you say?”

“I told her to fuck off,” snorts Jo, rolling her eyes and pulling a small chuckle out of me. “I was caught a little off guard. It was the first time she’d said anything about me liking you.”

Returning my attention to the deck, I inquire, “How did she know?”

“I was upset when you got shot,” shrugs Johanna. “Could’ve been that, or maybe she could tell when we talked about you. I dunno.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve always had lots to say about me.”

She lets that go, but as I’m dealing the last few cards, Johanna smirks and gives my foot a little nudge under the table. “See? This is better than crying on the couch, don’t you think?”

Narrowing my eyes, I grumble, “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“I knew you’d like it,” she gloats, playing the first card. As we take turns adding to the pile, she tacks on, “Everyone does.”

“You taught it to a lot of people?”

“Finnick already knew the game - I’ve played with him and Annie for years,” says Jo. “Played with them and Gale a few times in the dining hall too. Handsome got very competitive.”

Pausing mid-draw, I snort under my breath. “He would.”

Too casually, she asks, “You think about him much?”

“Thought about him a lot today,” I answer pointedly, tossing my card down. Jo flips a jack onto the pile and I slap it particularly hard, making her eyes grow a little.

As I’m adding the cards to my stack, she pipes up, “If it’s any consolation, he probably feels even worse than you do today.” My head snaps up and I squint at her in confusion and disbelief. She shrugs. “I know what it’s like to feel the blood of family on your hands and agonize over what you could have done differently. Prim was like family to Gale.”

“Serves him right,” I snap. “He knew that trap would take innocent lives. That shouldn’t only matter when someone he knows falls victim to it.”

“We don’t even know if it was Coin who ordered the attack,” she points out. “If it was his bomb.”

“No, we don’t. But it could have been. He probably would have been okay with it too, if not for Prim.”

“Not sure about that,” argues Johanna, and I roll my eyes. As I’m laying the first card down, she insists, “I talked to him more than you did after it actually happened.” Her face darkens. “It’s one thing in theory, another in practice. The bombing changed him.”

“Not much. He’s still in the military,” I counter. Johanna twitches her eyebrows and plays her next card, but I don’t bite. Instead I stare her down, trying to break into her mind. “Why do you want me to forgive him?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” she backpedals. “I’m no expert on forgiveness.” When my inquisitive expression doesn’t let up, she sighs. “Truth is, I hate to see you throwing relationships away when I would kill to have my family back. I know that’s not really fair. But I do think you’ll be happier if you have more people to live for.” Leaning forward on her elbows, she peers deep into my eyes. “And I know you miss him.”

Sitting back, I wave her off and play another card. “I miss my old life. He just happened to be part of it.”

In spite of those words, I end up with the phone in my hand a few days later, fingers poised over the punch pad, eyes on a crumpled piece of scrap paper. My mother gave us a number to reach the Hawthornes earlier this spring, some phone line shared with several other households. Even in Two, the phone network is still sparse.

Staring at the mouthpiece, the dial tone ringing in my repaired ear, I can’t make my mind cooperate. It refuses to move my fingers or produce anything to say to Gale. I know I have lots to say, and lots to yell, buried somewhere deep inside me. But I can’t unearth it.

I hang up, silencing the dial tone. That’s a battle for another day. Year.

One afternoon, we receive another of Annie’s letters, and with it a photo of her and Finnick’s newborn son. He has come earlier than anticipated, but the bigger surprise is who else is in the picture. Peeta. Holding the baby and making silly faces at him. Annie remarks on how helpful Peeta has been since showing up in Four a couple months ago, how great he is with the baby. “He’s been a lifesaver,” she gushes, before moving on to how the baby reminds her more every day of his father. “We’ve all suffered so much, but we owe it to their memories, and our children, to do our best with these lives,” she says as she signs off. “I hope you’re both finding some peace.”

Johanna slumped back against the couch a while ago, indicating she was done reading, but I keep dragging my eyes over Annie’s words, trying to process them. This is the first I’ve heard of Peeta’s arrival in District 4, from Annie or my mother. Maybe neither of them wanted to upset me. Annie made no mention of any budding romance between the two of them, after all. But with how enamored her tone was, I’d wager it’s not far off. Eventually I let the paper fall to my lap, catch Jo’s eye. “Wow.”

She raises an eyebrow at my emotionless comment, replying with a noncommittal, “You’re surprised?”

“In the dining hall, I thought he said that thing about stealing Annie to spite me.” Mulling it over a moment, I conclude, “But no. Come to think of it, she’s perfect for him.” Giving Jo some droll side-eye, I snort, “He needs someone to save.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” she teases. “No wonder it didn’t work out.” My glare only leads her to smile and poke me in the side. “You’re right, though. And Annie, she needs someone steady and attentive.”

“Yep.”

There’s a long pause before Jo pipes up again. “You think they’re boning yet?”

My eyebrows twitch, gaze lingering on the letter. “Gross.”

We don’t discuss the disconcerting news for the rest of the day, nor much of anything else. It’s not until Jo joins me in bed that she broaches the subject again. As I’m slipping a bookmark into my novel, she remarks, “You’ve been quiet.” Settling on my side, I tuck my right arm under my head and nod. Watching my face closely, she asks, “Does it bother you?”

“It’s weird,” I confess. No point trying to lie. “The thought of him with someone else, you know.”

“You haven’t had an ex before. It would be.”

Dropping my eyes to the covers, I nod, my mind whirring with the many things it’s had to reflect on today. My teeth play at my lip and I admit, “You were right, about me and Peeta. We both wanted be the savior.” Finally I catch her eye, sighing resignedly. “It caused problems, to say the least. Like in the Quarter Quell.”

Johanna makes an exaggerated gagging face. “You two fighting over who should live was so gross. Not to mention all that kissing.”

Smirking, I give her a half-assed, “Sorry.” Despite the twinkle in her eye, my smile fades away. “It’s hard to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. That was always our problem. One of many.”

“I dunno,” Johanna mumbles, ducking her gaze. “You managed.” No doubt feeling my inquisitive eyes, she raises hers to meet them after a few moments, her expression uncharacteristically sober. “I know I always said I didn’t need saving, but I did.” Setting her jaw, she gives me a small nod of acknowledgement. “You did it.”

My mouth slips open under the weight of her statement, and for a moment my bright eyes can only stare into her sincere ones, warmth burgeoning in my chest. But it becomes too much and I have to blink away. “You saved me more. You literally saved my life,” I remind her, shifting to run my fingers over the jagged aberration on my forearm. When her knife cut into my flesh, I had no idea that the wound she left would come to be my most treasured scar. Her love is etched in my skin.

“From myself,” she clarifies, calling back my gaze. The corner of her mouth twitches. “I didn’t think I could ever open up again. Trust or be happy.”

Like the idiot I am, I can only blink at this confession. Eventually I manage a scratchy, “You’re happy?”

With a wry smile, Johanna tells me, “I’m getting there. I hope.”

“Me too.” Relieved I got those words out unimpeded, I relax with a sigh as I finger her jaw. “Thank you.” She raises a questioning eyebrow. “For sticking with me all this time,” I clarify, fighting off another bout of sheepishness. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“I don’t like easy.”

“Neither do I.” At her doubtful squint, I roll my eyes. “Not in the end.” If that were true, I’d be wasting away in Twelve as we speak. Trailing my hand down her side, I wind my fingers in the hem of her shirt with a devious smirk. “Yet, for some reason, I like you.”

Jo’s eyes narrow further. “Calling me easy, Everdeen?”

“Do you deny it?” I tease, lifting a playful eyebrow.

Either she can no longer contain her growing smile, or she doesn’t care to try. “For you? No.” Her attempt to roll on top of me quickly ends with her on her back, hands pinned astride her head. “Oh, really?”

Dipping my head, I flick her earlobe with my tongue and give it a little tug. At her tiny gasp, I growl, “Stay down.” She shivers and I dive into her mouth for a deep kiss. It’s fiery and passionate, like her. Like us.

Sometimes the fire burns me, but it always fuels me. And even in the hard moments, I know it’s worth it. Because without Johanna, I would be dead inside. Peeta and Gale gave me many things, but neither of them gave me life. What I need to survive is not Gale’s unchecked rage and hatred that destroys all in its path. What I need to thrive is not Peeta’s pandering, his constant assurances of my goodness and all but unconditional approval. What I need is the spark, the fire in my belly and under my ass that pushes me to keep moving, to keep bettering my life and myself. And only Johanna can ignite that flame. I’m not the girl on fire without her.

Pulling back enough to speak, I urge her, “Don’t ever give up on me.”

A grin cracks her cheeks as she runs a hand up the side of my face, brushing my cheekbone with her thumb. My head automatically leans into her touch, but it doesn’t last, her fingers travelling up to thread in my hair. Tugging me back down, she gives my lower lip a nibble. As I part my lips, her answer fills the depths of my mouth and my heart.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is probably evident to anyone familiar with the ending of Mockingjay, this marks the end of the story proper. But fear not, there is an epilogue still to come. Stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks once again to District 7 Profanity for her beta reads and quality suggestions.


	24. In the Cards (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I recycled a bit of canon content. Still no copyright infringement intended.

Burbles of high-pitched laughter echo up the shore, stealing my attention from the small piece of driftwood I’m plucking from the sand. Johanna’s exaggerated grunts of effort punctuate the giggles as she lumbers out of ankle-deep waves, a small girl latched onto either leg. Beads of water trail down her abdomen, her short locks of hair frizzy and askew from the salt.

“You’re too heavy!” exclaims Jo, still grunting heavily with each laborious stride. “You’re so huge! What am I gonna do?” The tiny hitches in her breath tell me she is actually struggling, but I don’t move a muscle to assist her. Only to smile. Catching my eye, she calls out, “A little help, here?”

“Thought you were some championship wrestler!” I yell back with a mocking glint in my eyes. Johanna narrows hers and promptly falls on her face when the larger girl yanks on her lower leg. The girls cheer and dance around their fallen captive, chanting a taunting tune about how they beat her. They share a triumphant laugh as she swats at their feet, a laugh I join in on.

Though she’s still glaring, there is a playful undertone in Johanna’s voice as she lifts her face from the sand and shouts, “Eff you, Katniss!” Giving my head a shake of resignation, I don’t bother hiding an affectionate smirk. That is the closest I will ever get to taming Johanna’s tongue around our children.

Children. This is not something I ever envisioned for myself, let alone us. Johanna has always had such an abrasive personality and lack of patience, at least toward me, that it never occurred to me that she might want to deal with tiny needy humans. But six years ago, on one of our visits to Four, I had an epiphany of sorts. The look on Jo’s face as she held Peeta and Annie’s month-old daughter for the first time and the joy in her eyes as she played with young Finn made something click in my brain. It was strikingly reminiscent of the way she interacted with Prim, the affection and uncharacteristic positivity.

That night, as we were settling down in the guest room, I had my eye on Jo again. That small, enamored smile from earlier had yet to fade from her lips. Flopping on the bed, she started regaling me with some anecdote from her game of hide and seek with the little boy. “Johanna,” I cut in suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence. She narrowed her eyes and I just about lost my nerve. It felt like such a strange thing to ask, but I had to know. “Do you… want kids?”

Her eyes fluttered with surprise for several seconds, then rolled hard and dropped to the bedspread. “I mean, I did,” she confessed. “Before I got reaped and everything. After the fire, I figured it would never be in the cards for me.”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “How about now?”

“You don’t want ‘em,” she shrugged. “You’ve told me.”

A pang of guilt echoing in my gut, I declared, “Well, if you want one, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Katniss,” she stated, tilting her head and eyeing me as though I was an imbecile. Which wasn’t entirely unfair. “You’re my girlfriend, my partner,” she spelled out. “Unless you’re planning on leaving me, if I have a kid, it’ll be yours too for all intents and purposes.”

My eyebrows twitched as I stared down at my hands. “Too bad it couldn’t be mine for real. Isn’t passing on your genes half the point?”

“It can be. Yours, I mean.” At my confused expression, she explained, “They can do that, in the Capitol. Harvest your eggs, merge them with mine.”

My jaw flapped uselessly a couple times before I got out a, “How?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Science?” As I tried to absorb this possibility that I had never even known existed, she warned me, “It’s pricey. Would take a few months’ worth of winnings, from both of us.” She furrowed her brow. “Benefits, I mean.” Four years post-war, we were still getting used to the new name for our paydays: Survivors’ Benefits. The word ‘winnings’ didn't sit so well after the revolution that abolished the Games, but no one felt it was fair to further disrupt the lives of the living victors by taking away their income. 

Still trying to wrap my head around the idea, I told her, “Let me think about it.”

“Take your time,” she said. “I only wanna do it if you do. I know you have reservations about being a mommy.” A smirk inched its way onto her face, illuminating her eyes. “But I guess you never thought about being a daddy, did you?”

Squinting into a glare, I admonished her, “Don’t make this weird.”

But it was already plenty weird. I spent the rest of the trip mulling it over, gathering encouragement from watching Jo with the kids and fear from all encounters with my mother. In the end, it was the joy I derived from my own interactions with Finn and the baby that made me think maybe it could be worth the risk. That maybe I should try to let go of my deepest fears and just live. But that was a tall order.

It wasn’t until we were back in our own Victor’s Village that I broached the subject again. As we sat down to supper the night we arrived home, I confessed, “I think you were right.”

“I’m always right,” Jo said to her plate. But her sparkling eyes jumped up almost immediately to catch my reaction. Winking, she gave my foot a nudge. “What about?”

“That I’ll be happier with more people to live for,” I specified. “Even spending time with Peeta and Annie, connecting with some other people…”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

With a halting nod, I conceded, “In small doses. So I’m thinking, maybe kids would be good for me. You know?”

“There’s no small doses with kids,” Jo pointed out, eyes still holding that teasing energy. “And there’s no way I’m staying with a deadbeat daddy.”

My eyes rolled so far back into their sockets I’m surprised my brain didn’t swallow them whole. “Please stop.” As Johanna chuckled, I shifted in my seat and began picking at my cuticles. “Thing is, in my logical brain, I see no big reasons not to. It seems like a safe bet.” Earnestly meeting her eyes, I confessed, “But the truth is, Johanna, I still don’t feel safe. Some part of me is still terrified that something will happen to you, or to me. Let alone any helpless kids. One of the reasons I never wanted any was that I knew I couldn’t protect them from the Capitol, didn’t know if I could even keep food in their bellies.”

Laying a gentle hand on my forearm, she rubbed her thumb back and forth over the bare skin. “Those aren’t problems now.”

“I know. But…” Unsure how exactly to say what I meant, I trailed off helplessly. Until I remembered a moment from years before and realized that it needed no explaining. Jo was a victor too. She understood. Canting my head exaggeratedly to the side, I raised my pitch an octave and asked, “How about you, Mason? You feel totally safe?”

Though Jo’s mouth briefly twitched at the impression, it ultimately fell, along with her eyes. “No.” Sighing deeply, she pulled her hand back and folded both together, braving my gaze again. “To be honest, that’s part of why I want other people in your life. Even part of why I want kids,” she admitted. “Katniss, no one lives forever. What are the chances we’ll go at the same time?” My face slipped into a loose expression of horror as she spoke. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about, ever.

Reaching out again to grasp my hand, she continued earnestly. “I want you to have someone else to live for. Some other reason to keep going, if something happens to me. In five years or fifty years, whatever. I don’t want to be your only reason for living. People say that’s romantic, but it’s fucked up. I don't want that for you.”

Eyes on the table, I sighed. “But that’s my biggest fear, with all this. That I won’t keep going. That something _will_ happen to you, and I’ll become my mother. I don’t want to put a child through that.”

“Then don’t,” she said. As if it was that simple. “Your mom never reached out to anyone for help. Maybe there was no one. But you have people who can catch you, help you, even if I’m not there to do it.”

Considering this for a moment, I remarked, “You know it’s a fucked up reason to have a child, right?” Though to be honest, I could relate. The thought of leaving Johanna alone in the world again filled me with more grief than the thought of losing her. Having more family, replacing the one she lost, it couldn’t be a bad thing.

“It’s not my only reason,” she countered.

“No, it’s not.” Face in my hands, I breathed out all the doubt and fear I could and tried to focus on a simple question. What did I want? I had never been very good at figuring that out, always so consumed by taking care of others. And while the thought of parenthood filled me with fear, there was also a part of me that felt the pull toward the adventure of it. Truth be told, I still felt no overwhelming need to procreate. But while I was not especially invested in the idea, I was invested in Johanna’s happiness, and it was enough to bypass my state of indecision. “Okay,” I concluded, lifting my head to meet her gaze. “Let’s do it.”

Her brown eyes blinked once in surprise before growing wide and hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Now it was my turn to give her foot a nudge. The sultry wink I shot her did not entirely mask the genuine smile on my face. “Let’s make a baby.”

Despite my lack of maternal urges, it’s not a decision I have ever regretted. At least, for no longer than it took to recover from a poor night’s sleep. Our daughters bring an innocent kind of joy into my life that I had long forgotten, something that neither Johanna nor I could bring to our relationship. It makes me feel lighter. Hopeful.

As their shrieks of delight pierce my eardrums, my eyes zero in on the little girls scampering down the beach toward their grandmother. Johanna, in contrast, takes just enough steps to reach my squatting form before flopping down in the sand again.

“So much for supporting me,” she grouses, pulling a smirk onto my lips. Touché. Glancing at the collection of small driftwood in my arms, she inquires, “What the hell are you doing, anyway?”

“Collecting firewood. Duh, brainless,” I sass her.

“We have lots at the house,” she points out. As though I could forget watching her split logs for what felt like hours yesterday, my mouth forming as much saliva as there was sweat dripping down her back at the sight and sound of her rippling muscles and forceful grunts.

Attempting to push that thought aside, I retort, “Only big pieces. Someone’s too much of a show off to split kindling.”

Johanna sticks her tongue out at me, then nods in the wake of the kids. “You coming? Looks like the food’s almost ready.”

“Yeah,” I say, standing and heading for the forest that rims the beach. “As soon as I drop this off.”

We fell in love with this village the first time we visited. We happened upon it at the tail end of a tour of Seven Johanna took me on a few years after we moved back here. It was mostly so she could show me where she grew up, a town in the northern reaches of the district that took us two days to reach by car. Her childhood home was gone, of course, but the town was charming and the scenery incredible, and I could see why she might miss it. But she said it didn’t feel like home anymore. I could relate. It’s part of why I moved to Seven after the war.

We took a more western route on the way home, down a road along the coast that had previously been outside the fences and accessible only to Peacekeepers. Way in the far southern end of the district, close to the wilds between it and Four, we found this slice of paradise. The village itself was in its infancy at the time, but between the warm beach and tall trees, we knew immediately we’d found a vacation spot. After enough trips here, we decided it was where we wanted to plant some new roots. The pace of life is slower and there’s less nosy people around to gawk at the infamous victors and question the welfare of their children. Less people in general, of course, but the people who do live here are laid back and treat us like anyone else, don’t make us feel special. It is surprisingly refreshing.

The late-July sun beaming down on me through gaps in the trees, I follow a rather lousy excuse for a path until I reach a modest dwelling set not a hundred feet into the woods. We’ve been building this log cabin since the rainy season ended early in the spring, renting out a small house nearby. I spent many a day with the toddler strapped to my back, hammering beams and boards under Jo’s watchful eye while our oldest “helped” her cut wood. Mostly she played gopher, Jo’s way of keeping her away from the tablesaw, but she was happy to be contributing something to the effort.

Inside, I grab a hand planer and shave off some tinder from one of Jo’s split logs, then arrange the bone dry pieces of driftwood around it in the fireplace. As I stand from admiring my handiwork, my eyes land on a decorative arrow cut from stone sitting on the mantle. Pinned beneath the arrow is the note that accompanied it when it came in the mail the other day. Slipping the note out from under the stone, I read it for at least the twentieth time.

_Hey, Catnip. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party this weekend, but I’ll come see the new cabin soon. I bet it’s top notch. Send pictures. In the meantime, please accept this housewarming gift from all of us. -Gale_

Despite his well wishes, I have a feeling my best friend found an excuse to be busy today because the whole thing is too awkward for him. Some probable lingering jealousy aside, I don’t think he can bring himself to face my mother after how the war ended. She holds no ill will toward him, but that doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to show his face. We wouldn’t even be in contact now had I not taken the first steps years ago.

Johanna and I had been in the Capitol for about a month when we got the news that Annie was pregnant again. We’d been undergoing weeks of fertility injections plus all the uncomfortable procedures, and were sitting around waiting until Johanna could be tested. Annie invited us to take a detour on the way home and come celebrate with them if Jo tested positive, but I was socially exhausted from staying with Haymitch and Effie that whole time, and more than ready to go home and be left the fuck alone. “Do we have to?” I grumbled.

“No. But I promised Finnick I’d watch out for her if anything happened to him.” Rolling her eyes, Johanna sighed, “I should probably pop in, at least. She’s like family.”

It was strange to hear that from Johanna, who’d at one point held plenty of resentment toward Annie. But their time supporting each other during the invasion had surely brought them closer, and I’d never doubted Johanna’s devotion to Finnick. It put me to shame, when compared to how I’d treated my best friend. Gale used to be every bit as much family to me as Finnick was to Jo, that and more. And I’d thrown that away. Even Peeta, I’d once felt like he was family, and yet there I was, avoiding his company. With us investing in a new future, I knew I should be strengthening the bonds I already had. It was time to stop playing lone wolf. Though I had always been very good at it.

As my girlfriend cracked her back, she blinked skyward and smiled. “On the bright side, then we can be pregnant and hungry together. And you and Peeta can wait on us hand and foot, like good little husbands.”

My eyes rolled right back at her. “Don’t the weird cravings mean you’re pregnant?”

“Cravings aren’t foolproof, baby,” she said. “It could all be in my head.” But it wasn’t all in her head. Within the week, we were packing up to leave triumphantly, positive results in hand.

When Johanna asked if I would come to Four with her, I told her, “I’ll catch up. I have to make a stop on the way back.”

“Where?” she asked.

There’s no describing the pride on her face when I answered, “District Two.”

The next morning, I stood inside the Justice Building in Two, hands jammed in my pockets as I tried very unsuccessfully to avoid looking around. When my mom told me this was where Gale worked, I almost aborted my mission, too fearful of the memories of gunfire and collapsed mines overtaking me. My wandering eyes came to rest on a marble pillar a short distance away, my innards curdling as I recalled letting it leech my body heat for hours while the workers at the Nut tried to dig their way out of the grave our hoverplanes put them in.

It was nearly too much, but I gritted my teeth and continued to tap my foot impatiently as I waited for this bitchy security guard to call up to Gale’s office and get his approval for me to enter the secured wing of the building. Latecomers were trickling in the main doors as I stood there waiting, many of them likely delayed by the storm outside. Keeping my head down, I didn’t pay them much attention until a glimpse of one in particular made my stomach clench and drop. The hood of his raincoat was obscuring his face and his once lanky frame had filled out with muscle, but something in me recognized him even before I caught sight of the olive skin of his bare hands.

“Gale.”

The hurrying figure stopped in its tracks and slowly turned. One hand came up, pushing back the hood and revealing his face. It had gone lax and pale, almost like he’d seen a ghost. To be fair, he’d probably thought he was more likely to see a ghost in his lifetime than my face ever again. His voice was lower than I remembered as he uttered my name. “Katniss.”

“Hi,” I forced out through a suddenly tight throat, stepping forward with a gulp. The remaining twenty feet seeming too large to breach, my feet rooted themselves into the floor. Gale gave no reply in greeting, making my throat constrict yet tighter. In addition to the obvious shock, he was wearing that same sad, resigned look from the last time we spoke, making my chest ache. “Can we talk?”

Gale’s gray eyes flitted away before I could get a good read on his emotions. After taking in a deep breath he caught my eye and nodded, then jerked his head toward the security gate. “She’s family, Marla,” he told the woman as he scanned his ID badge. “My cousin. I can vouch for her identity.”

“The whole country can,” she muttered, buzzing me through. Her continued coldness was slightly disconcerting, but not surprising in the least. Hatred for me in District Two likely still runs deep to this day. I was involved in the deaths of many of its sons and daughters. Yet Gale has gotten along just fine. They probably don’t know he was the mastermind behind the attack on the Nut. 

Silence enshrouded us as we traversed the hallways, the only sounds our footsteps echoing off the polished stone walls. I’ve never been one for idle chatter, but it was so nerve-wracking and awkward that I was itching to speak by the time we reached the door marked _Major G. Hawthorne, Security Div. IV_. “My mom told me you got promoted again last year,” I spouted, grateful for something to prompt conversation. “She said Hazelle was really proud. Congratulations.”

Gale nodded stiffly, finally regaining eye contact as we entered the office. “Thank you.” After shutting the door, he strode over to his desk, shrugging off the raincoat to reveal his pressed gray military jacket underneath.

When he stood up from draping the coat over the back of his chair, I got a better look at the uniform jacket. A number of medals adorned his breast, the only one I recognized being the one awarded to soldiers wounded in battle. I was sent one in honor of my “sacrifice” during the invasion once the new nationwide military force was formed, but it’s been collecting dust in some storage box ever since. My burns paled in comparison to the lives and body parts that many others lost, and I have no pride in my former involvement in the military anyway. No reason to display it.

As my eyes roamed to the epaulets sitting atop Gale’s shoulders, they caught sight of something just below his collarbone. A faint smear of white that made the blood drain from my head in shock. Our visits to District Four had well acquainted me with the perils of infants, and I all but instantly recognized the stain as spit up, hastily wiped away. Jaw falling open, I raised a hand and pointed at Gale’s breast. “You have…”

Brow furrowing, he glanced down and caught sight of the mark. “Oh, thanks.” Wetting a tissue with his tongue, he rubbed at it with a sheepish, “Thought I got it all.”

Blinking myself back into a state of functionality as I watched, I finally finished my sentence. “You have a baby.”

“Two, actually. Twins.” When I didn’t reply, Gale glanced up and took in my stunned expression. “What? I told you I wanted them.”

“I remember,” I answered, my voice hollow as I recalled that morning at our spot in the woods. The calm before the storm that changed everything. I swallowed. “So, you have a wife? Girlfriend?”

Chuckling inwardly, Gale pitched the tissue in the trash. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m just curious, Gale. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has.” After a long pause, he plucked a picture frame from his desktop and came around to sit informally on the corner. His relaxing posture allowed me to breathe out some of my own tension. “Wife,” he said, handing over the frame. “Been married two years.”

Taking it hesitantly, I found myself staring at Gale’s wedding photo. Even after all that time, seeing him in such a picture with another girl made my stomach turn with… not jealousy, exactly, but unease. Seeing evidence that I had lost my influence and special place in his life was a tough pill to swallow, even though I’d left our relationship to rot. It only added insult to injury that the girl was obscenely beautiful. Pale and raven-haired like Jo, though significantly taller, with gorgeous gray eyes and a brilliant smile. “What’s her name?” I asked, trailing a finger along the ridges of the decorative wooden frame.

“Lucia.”

My eyes bulged. That kind of name holds a very specific pedigree. No way Gale would marry a Capitol girl, therefore… “You married a girl from Two?”

Gale cocked an eyebrow as dry as his tone. “That is where I live, you know.”

“I guess…” Trailing off, I tried to cobble together a coherent train of thought. “But you were willing to bomb civilians from Two. You hated the Careers, like all of us.”

“She wasn’t a Career.”

“Obviously,” I replied. “I just didn’t think you’d marry into a Career district. The Peacekeeper factory, no less.”

“They’re not all evil,” argued Gale, snatching back the photo.

My jaw actually dropped. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Gale?”

Tucking his tongue under his lower lip, he scoffed exasperatedly. “Why are you here, Katniss?”

“Johanna is pregnant.”

It was the simplest and most pressing reason. Unlike any explanations of my deeper motives, those words came easily and quickly. And I let them hang there. Gale’s face started to harden, until it struck him how calm I was. “Wait, on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” The confusion in his features faded only somewhat as he absorbed this over several seconds. “Who did you use?”

“Me.” Predictably, his brow furrowed once again. “It’s some Capitol technology, they can combine the genes of two females to make a child,” I explained. “Only girls, but that’s fine, we didn’t mind writing off boys if it meant the kid would be completely our own.”

Gale appeared to be blinking this knowledge into his brain, unsure what to say. Eventually he settled on, “Well… I guess congratulations are in order, then.” He stood and extended a casual hand. When I reached out to meet it, he gave mine one firm shake, a small smile sprouting on his lips.

My hand lingered in his grip a bit longer than it needed to, the awkward and seemingly impenetrable contact barrier finally somewhat broken. “Thank you.”

As I dropped his hand, Gale inquired, “Is she here with you, or…?”

I shook my head. “No. She’s in Four, being ‘pregnant and hungry’ with Annie.”

His eyebrows arched. “Peeta knocked her up again already?”

“You heard about that?”

“I’m not big on celebrity gossip, but that was hard to miss,” he remarked drolly. “It was all over the news.” Looking me over, he gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t know how you two have kept such a low profile.”

“We’re scarier than Peeta and Annie,” I cracked. “The press is afraid of us. All of us are crazy, but at least they aren’t cold-blooded murderers.”

“Neither are you,” said Gale. My eyes fell from his sincere expression because I couldn’t quite believe him. Perhaps he couldn’t either, because he changed the subject. “So… you wanted to tell me in person, in case it did get out?”

“Yeah, but…” Sighing, I straightened up and looked him in the eye. “It’s got me thinking, about the importance of family.” His jaw tensed slightly as he tried to maintain his poker face. These walls between us felt so foreign. Continuing my attempt to dismantle them, I took on an almost imploring tone. “I miss you, Gale. And I have so few people in this world, why push you away?”

“I think we both know why,” he answered tonelessly. As my eyes narrowed, he let his shoulders fall and backpedaled, “I never called you either. I’m not blaming you.”

“No,” I replied simply. “You blame yourself.”

Twitching his eyebrows, he muttered to the floor, “You blame me too.”

“I’m done blaming,” I declared, shaking my head. Gale regained my gaze and I held his earnestly. “I want to move on with my life. Let go of grudges and at least try to be happy. It’s what Prim would have wanted.” Before I had a chance to lose my nerve, I took a decisive step toward him and wrapped my arms around his midsection. His core tensed briefly before relaxing into the contact, his arms coming up to encircle my shoulders.

As my head settled on Gale’s shoulder, his thumb brushed back and forth over mine. “I’ve missed you too,” he confessed, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Cinching my arms tighter, I nodded into his collarbone. “So am I.”

***

A cacophony of crashing waves and children’s shrieks greets my ears as I exit the forest close to where our party has gathered, surveying the scene. Effie and Haymitch are standing and chatting with Johanna and my mother, close to where our kids are chasing around Peeta and Annie’s three oldest children. Peeta is grilling meat over a barbeque beside the cluster of picnic tables where the sand meets a tinder-dry grassy patch, while Finn unloads some things from the trunk of their car. Annie must be off feeding the baby somewhere because, unlike Johanna, she is shy about exposing herself in public.

Four kids already in seven years of marriage seems a little excessive to me. When we went to visit the Mellarks for New Year’s and meet the newest addition, I cornered Peeta in the kitchen as he was icing the cake. Poking him in the ribs, I teased him, “Maybe you should get off her already.”

Apparently taking that more seriously than I’d meant it, he balked, “What? You think I’m some kind of insatiable jackrabbit?”

Caught off guard, I responded with equal defensiveness. “Maybe,” I answered, an edge in my tone that did not match my nonchalant shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he concurred pointedly. Coming from him, that stung unexpectedly. He seemed to sense this, backing off a little. “Look, the kids are good for Annie. She’s been a lot more stable since Finn was born. I think having someone to depend on her forces her to keep her head on straight.”

That was far too relatable for me. And, judging by the introspection in his eyes as they flicked into the living room to take in his beloved, it was for Peeta too. Somewhat embarrassed that I unwittingly took a shot at his wife’s coping mechanisms, I averted my eyes and conceded, “I can understand that.”

“Besides, why not have kids?” he shrugged, returning his attention to the cake. “We both like them, and the benefits make it more affordable than it would be otherwise.” I was just rolling my eyes at how simple - not to mention cheap - the whole process is for them when he inadvertently provoked me with an offhand, “You two thought about having more?”

“Sure,” I snorted. “Because I can just crawl on top of Johanna and knock her up for free in five minutes. How lucky you are.”

Looking up from his work, Peeta raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t,” I muttered, blinking away. “It’s just the way it is.”

Peeta nodded slowly, analyzing my expression. “Besides, it’s at least ten minutes,” he said to the cake as he made one final swoop with the spreader, prompting another eye roll on my part that made him smile. “Usually longer.”

“Good for you,” I replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t have that problem.”

“How lucky you are,” he grinned as he straightened up. Throwing me a disarming wink, he extended the spreader my way. When I didn’t immediately grasp it, he waggled it in front of my face until a smile broke through and I took it.

“Thanks.” Giving the spreader a lick, I watched as he picked up the piping bag and started on the letters. “At least I don’t have to worry about getting her pregnant by accident.”

“Also true,” agreed Peeta, “though you pay a lot more to have a baby than most people do to avoid it.” He was not wrong, not by a long shot.

We’re done having kids, partly for that reason. Mostly because two is plenty enough to handle. Let alone five, which is what my mother takes on as she breaks from the adult conversation and stalks toward the kids, shouting at them to get out of the waves. Sidling up to Johanna’s back, I circle my arms around her waist and nuzzle her hair, getting a whiff of sea salt. “Hi, baby,” I murmur. She turns her head and we exchange a quick kiss.

“There you are, Katniss,” remarks Effie. “I’d hate to think you were ignoring the guests at your own party.”

“Of course not, Miss Trinket,” I drawl. “Still minding my manners. I can never get your voice out of my head, no matter how hard I try.”

Haymitch snorts into his glass while Effie purses her lips, camouflaging any hints of amusement. But the affection is plain in her eyes as she says, “Eleven years, and you’re still that same unruly girl, aren’t you?”

Waving her off, I quip, “Whatever, you love me.” It does not escape me that that’s entirely something Johanna would say. She’s still rubbing off on me. As Effie walks toward the nearby picnic tables with Haymitch, playfully wagging her finger, I plant a kiss on Johanna’s cheek and run my fingers over the smooth flesh of her upper back, trail them down the inner border of her shoulder blade.

Children are not the only pricey thing we have put our benefits toward. A couple years ago, Jo spent two months’ worth of them on a selective body polish, removing the scars on her back and scalp as well as various other ones she acquired during her stint in “Snow’s basement funhouse,” as she so eloquently put it the morning after his execution. She said it was so the kids wouldn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer, but I think she just wanted them gone. Not that I blame her. They were a reminder of the most traumatic event in her life. Likewise, I’ve considered doing the same with the scars left over from the skin grafts I needed after catching fire in the Circle. But I haven’t, at least not yet. In a way, I can appreciate reminders of what I’ve overcome. Plus, I don’t know if I can bring myself to remove something that reminds me of Prim, even in a painful way.

A shiver under my touch brings a smile to my lips, and I drag a nail up along the same ridge of bone my fingers just traversed. Dark, narrowed eyes jump up to mine, making me smirk smugly like Johanna always does when she knows she’s riling me up. Serves her right. Grabbing my shirt, she pulls me down for a hard kiss. My hands roam down her lower back and splay on her hips as hers wind in my t-shirt. “No fair,” she grumbles.

Though I love the moments of revenge when I can sexually frustrate Johanna, a smile breaks out on my face and I can’t help but try to appease the pout on hers. Lifting my arms, I peel off the shirt and drop it on the sand, revealing my swim top underneath. Her hands and upturned lips have just met the newly uncovered skin when a clearing throat breaks the spell we’ve both fallen under.

“Young eyes,” my mother admonishes us from behind Jo, nodding to where our girls now sit playing in the sand at her feet.

Rolling her eyes, Jo turns around in my arms. “So what?” she spouts. “They should know their mommies love each other.” Dropping her gaze to said young eyes, she adds, “Right, kids?” Despite being shyer than Jo about public displays of affection, I can’t pass up the opportunity to lace a couple kisses down her neck, smothering my chuckle in the crook of her shoulder.

“Hey!” calls Peeta, drawing my attention to where he is setting out food on one of the tables, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Why don’t you two get a room?”

“Later, Bread Boy!” Jo shouts back. It only deepens the blush I am hiding against her skin, still holding her tight.

“Jo,” I murmur into her skin. “Lay off.”

Tilting her head up and to the side to catch my eye, she replies with a wink. “Lay what, now?”

“Mom?” Parenthood has taught us how to tune out kids’ voices, a skill necessary to retain one’s sanity amid chaos. We put that skill to use as Johanna turns and loops her arms around my neck, pulling herself tighter against me and up into my lips. It works just fine until the taller child comes closer and tugs insistently on the side of Johanna’s bikini bottom, almost yanking it down before I grab hold of it. “Mommy?”

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Johanna cocks an eyebrow with thinly veiled irritation. “Yes, Willow?”

“What’s Uncle Peeta mean?” Inquisitive deep brown eyes peer up at us. She looks strikingly like me other than that one detail, tall for her age and naturally tan. Her hair is jet black like Jo’s, not that mine is much lighter, but it’s those eyes that always weaken my resolve. Saying no to her is all but impossible for me, especially when her forehead crinkles in Jo’s signature pout. Defying all expectations, Johanna has turned out to be the stricter parent.

Palming Willow’s head, she assures her, “I’ll explain when you’re older, kiddo.”

As Willow whines about how she wants to know now, I roll my eyes and glare at Peeta for his part in this. He doesn’t look the least bit sorry, chuckling as he pops a berry in his mouth. I idly hope it’s nightlock. Judging by the smirk on nine year-old Finn’s face as he sits beside his stepdad watching the exchange, he’s already been given the sex talk. There’s sure been enough babies for him to start asking where they come from. I redirect my glare at him until he looks away sheepishly.

“Go on, go play with your sister,” Johanna urges our firstborn, who responds by crossing her arms with a hot glare and a stubborn stamp in the sand. She has Johanna’s pout and my glower. My brooding tendencies and her temper. The worst of both of us. Now Johanna shoots the girl her evil eye, which parenthood has only helped her perfect. “Willow Primrose Mason. That is not acceptable behavior.”

Releasing my grip on Jo, I guide our daughter back a step so I can squat in front of her. “Come on, Will, this isn’t worth getting upset over. Or getting in trouble. You know that.” Though her frown stays put, I see doubt creeping into her eyes as the wheels turn in her head. Holding out a hand with a smile, I suggest, “Let’s go collect some seashells. They have some really pretty ones here.” Reluctantly she takes my hand, and I reward her with an affirming nod. “Smart choice. Okay, let’s go.”

Before I get out of reach, Jo nabs my free hand and jerks me back. “We’ll pick this up later,” she promises, eyes once again smoldering with lust.

Gulping hard, I lean in and give her a chaste but decisive kiss in answer, all the while trying to quell the thrill she just set off in my stomach. I might be tempted to test my resolve with another peck, but Willow is yanking on my other hand. “Come on, Mama!”

She has always been very demanding, just like her mother. Once she’d gotten accustomed to bottle feeding, I spent many nights coaxing her back to sleep after she’d awoken hungry. Or cold. Or lonely. Babies find all kinds of reasons to cry. Tending to Willow was the least I could do after all the times Jo had had to get up to feed her in the middle of the night, all of Jo’s lost hours of sleep back when she was trying to kick her way out of the womb. Plus, it was better for me if I was the one to get up. Johanna sleep-deprived is extremely unpleasant.

Eventually, Willow’s sleeping patterns improved, and consequently so did ours. But just like us, she had her nightmares. One cold November night she woke up crying around ten o’clock, just as an episode of this singing program Plutarch hosts was wrapping up. Not so interested in the upcoming nightly newscast, I patted Jo on the thigh and volunteered to go deal with our daughter. She was coming up on a year and a half at that point, and had a decent enough vocabulary to tell us what she needed, which made things considerably easier.

“Willow?” I called, nudging open her cracked door to peer into the dimly lit room. “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

As I approached, the girl nodded, voice thick with tears. “I’m quared, Mama.”

“You don’t have to be scared, baby,” I assured her as I sat cross-legged on the bed, opening my arms for her. She scrambled into them and I held her close, placing a kiss on her forehead. “You’re safe. Mama’s here.” With the young toddler clutching at me, I hummed soothingly and spoke comforting words until she relaxed. As her eyelids began to droop, I sang her my favorite lullaby. It’s hers too, if only because her name is in the first line.

A loaded gaze burned into me from the doorway as I finished the final stanza, but my eyes lingered on my sleeping daughter a moment longer before rising to meet Jo’s. Hers held a great deal of affection, as expected, but also a healthy dose of lust. “You’re a natural,” she said.

A touch nervous under that look, I managed only a halting, “Yeah?”

Johanna smirked. “And you didn’t think you had it in you.” Coming closer, she bent down and trailed her fingertips down my jaw, under my chin. Before she tipped it up for a kiss, I caught a glimpse of lingerie peeking out from under her thin robe, sadly confining my view to her cleavage but stoking the coals in my belly all the same.

Pulling away with a tiny tug of my lip, Johanna grinned at my wide, hungry eyes. “You coming to bed?” My pounding heartbeat spread unbidden to my throat and my groin. It has never ceased to amaze me how she can still have the same effect on me as she did the day we met.

“Hell yeah,” I breathed. Nodding at the child in my arms, I asked, “You gonna help get this kid off me so I can join you?”

Tipping her head, Johanna pretended to mull this over for a moment before her cheeky, “Nope.” With a teasing grin, she sauntered out of the room, leaving me to push out a frustrated sigh. I tentatively shifted my weight around, trying to get my balance and set Willow down without waking her. It took several minutes and one scary flutter of her eyelids before she was tucked in. Already annoyed as I entered our bedroom, I found Johanna lying on the bed, robe gone and hand inside her underwear, fingers moving rhythmically. Though I did and still do enjoy watching her touch herself, a fact she was obviously exploiting, I felt the need to display some indignance. At my glare, she batted her eyelashes innocently. “What? You were taking too long.”

“No thanks to you,” I groused, prowling closer.

As I made it to the bed, Johanna blocked my way down and got to her feet. “No,” she commanded, taking me by the hips and turning us so my back was to the bed. “Sit.” A breath caught in my chest. I knew exactly where this was going.

As I obeyed her directive, the corner of Jo’s mouth turned up, unable to maintain the straight face she’d intended. Kneeling between my feet, she took her time unbuckling my belt and unzipping my pants, her little smirk growing all the while. Finally she dragged my pants and underwear down my thighs, eyes lighting up at what she’d uncovered. Disposing of the garments, she ran both hands up my inner thighs, pulling a gasp from my lungs. Just before her lips descended to lock around my clit, her one hand slid into her underwear and went back to work on her own.

Of course it felt incredible, but it was the sounds of her heightening suction combined with the clicking noise coming from her underwear that drove me halfway to madness. Her moans into my folds gave me an extra swell of arousal and I echoed her, head tipping back. I knew she was embellishing, but that didn’t stop it from being effective. Groaned curse words spewed out of my mouth as she fluttered her tongue between hard, pulsing suckles. One hand reaching back to support myself as I spread my legs wider for her, I palmed her skull, nails scratching at her scalp. As I crested over, Jo lifted her free hand to smother my broken cry with her palm. There was no less opportune time to wake the baby, especially for her.

Her escalating moans echoing into me as she tried to bring me down proved counterproductive. Grabbing her with an eye roll, I dragged her onto the bed. Pushing her flat on her back, I ripped the underwear from her legs and dove in for a kiss. Her legs wrapped around me as she arched up into my body. My shirt and both our bras were still impeding contact, but I lacked the patience to remove the barriers. As I buried my fingers in her, body weight propelling the back of my hand, Johanna gasped and clung to me. “Oh, Katniss.” After several thrusts, I ghosted my thumb over her clit, making her whimper, “Please.”

And I obliged, increasing the pressure. Years before, at Finnick and Annie’s wedding, I realized that I would never be able to say no to this girl. Nothing has changed.

After such a passionate start, it was some time before we wore ourselves out and collapsed against each other. As I lay there, my head atop Johanna’s slowing heart, our bare bodies entangled, my mind began to whirl. I rolled my tongue in my mouth, relishing the flavor fresh on it, and proposed, “Let’s have another one.”

“Another orgasm?” queried Jo.

My eyes rolled hard as I lifted my head from her chest. “Another child.”

Brow scrunching in a squint, Johanna pushed herself into a semi-sitting position, forcing me up with her. “Are you serious?” she gaped, her tone more surprised than accusatory. “You want to go back to sleepless nights and projectile poop?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. The thought had crossed my mind before, but I’d been meaning to voice it at a more opportune moment. Not when I had a loose mouth during some random post-sex haze. With a shrug, I pointed out, “And it would be nice if she had someone to play with.” When Johanna merely blinked, I tried the humor approach. “I’m thinking long term, here. If she has a playmate, they’ll entertain each other and we can mostly ignore them, right?”

Johanna snorted. “Or they’ll fight all the time.”

“If they’re anything like us,” I cracked. On a more serious note, I added, “But, you know, it’s good to grow up learning to get along. And to have that companionship.”

“Yeah, I miss having siblings too,” ruminated Johanna, stating plainly what I was fine with leaving unsaid. Lump rising in my throat, I dropped my eyes to the sheets. Slowly she started to nod. “Okay. Do you want to pop this one out?”

“Marginally less than I want to deal with pregnant Johanna again,” I deadpanned.

“I wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed.

“You were insufferable, though not much more than usual.” My saucy smile faded as I considered my next words. “I’ve never had the desire to carry one. If you don’t want to either, that’s fine. We don’t need more.”

“I was asking because I thought you might be interested,” clarified Johanna. “I don’t mind. Always figured I’d be birthing my own kids anyway.”

Leaning in, I planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me now,” she smirked. “Thank me with all the foot rubs and head I want while I’m carrying your baby.”

An insuppressible smile turned and parted my lips. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Like with Willow, we wasted no time setting up our appointments in the Capitol, and Olive was born the following September. Contrary to what her name would suggest, she’s a shade paler than her sister. She lacks her mother’s alabaster skin, but is no darker than Prim would get when she spent time in the sun. Though raven-haired like Willow and Jo, she has my gray eyes and, according to my mother, my exact temperament as a young child. Despite having the ability, she speaks very little, preferring to watch people. She rarely smiles, though she is quite clingy and affectionate, especially with me. We bond over our mutual dislike of talking.

In terms of social buffers, Olive is a godsend. Anytime I’m feeling drained, I can hang out with her and be lauded for spending quality time with my kid rather than disparaged for being anti-social. When I occasionally feel guilty about using her that way, I remind myself that the arrangement works for both of us. She likes attention but doesn’t like having to perform to get it. After being summoned from my shell-hunting/distraction mission with Willow to come get food, I scoop Olive up and say we’re going to eat on the beach. There’s not enough room at the tables for everyone, an extremely convenient excuse.

“Are you sure?” asks Annie. “We can kick the kids off the tables. They won’t mind.”

“No, it’s all good,” I assure her. “I’ve barely seen my little girl all day. And she can never get a word in edgewise around Willow and your brood.” That procures a few laughs, plus an approving nod from Annie, though Effie’s eyebrow is still raised as I turn away.

As I carry Olive and our paper plates to a log washed up a little ways down the shore, I attempt to push any guilt aside in favor of my own sanity, reminding myself that my social fatigue is earned. It’s been a very busy and emotional day, and it’s not over yet. Having Mom here makes it doubly difficult. Although I miss her and appreciate any support she can give, she reminds me of Prim, and that’s always bittersweet. In her presence, a veil of sadness looms ominously over me, waiting for any reason to drop and suck the light from my eyes.

My dark spells happen no matter whose company I keep, though. No matter how well things seem to be going. Even on days like today, ones that should be thoroughly joyous occasions, the shadows can overtake me. Especially on days like today, actually. Staring out over the water, I eat in silence around the toddler nestled between my thighs. The sea and sky stretch as far as the eye can see, and I can’t help but wonder if my sister and father still exist somewhere out there in the universe. If they are happy for me. I miss them so much it hurts.

“Mama?” The quiet voice calls me back, and I blink down to see Olive’s head turned, her huge gray eyes watching me. She gives my swim shorts a little tug. “Mama?”

I’m relieved to find my smile is not entirely forced as I put my plate aside and open up my arms. “C’mere, Ollie.”

My daughter clambers up my torso and slings her arms around my neck, legs circling my waist. It lifts my spirits and my mouth a bit, having this miniature Johanna clinging to me, but a lump still resides in my throat and a pain in my chest. Pushing out a sigh, I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice and focus only on the sensations of this moment. The moist, briny air chilling my face and infiltrating my nostrils. The roar of the surf echoing in my ears. My daughter’s literal and figurative warmth cocooning me, her tiny heart beating against my chest. The strategy grounds me just enough to relax my body and enjoy the contact. “I love you,” I mumble to the little girl, grazing my fingers up and down her back.

She squirms slightly in reply, tucking her face into the crook of my neck. “Don’t be sad, Mama.”

Her earnest request pulls a strangled, ironic chuckle from my lungs and a single tear from my eye. It rolls slowly down my cheek and into her hair as I give her a squeeze. This is far from first time one of my kids has taken it upon herself to cheer me up, and unfortunately it usually makes me feel worse. Firstly because that’s not their job, and also because if they are not successful, it must make them feel awful. Above all, I don’t want them to think it’s their fault or that they are somehow inadequate.

That’s why one day I’ll have to explain why I get this way. And explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away. I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after nearly ten years. But there are much worse games to play.

So taken by the embrace, I don’t notice Johanna approaching until she’s lowering herself to sit beside me on the log. Curling her hand around the inside of my knee, she examines my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I mumble. Jo tips her head doubtfully, and I admit, “Thinking about Prim.”

Nodding pensively, she moves her hand to the small of my back. “She’d be so happy for us.”

“I know,” I confess through an aching throat. “I wish she was here.”

Her eyes flitting to the sand, the corners of Jo’s mouth sneak upwards. “She did say I’d make a great sister-in-law.”

Between that statement’s truth and my affection for Johanna’s cheekiness, I can’t help a small smile of my own. Eyes on the ocean, I shake my head. “I never should've told you that.”

“Whatever,” she scoffs, “it’s cute.”

“You’re cute,” is the best comeback I can manufacture at the moment.

“I know,” Johanna draws out with a charming grin. Getting to her feet, she extends a hand down to me. “Come on, Mrs. Mason,” she beckons, eyes sparkling. “Peeta wants to cut the cake.”

Shifting Olive to my hip, I take Johanna’s hand and let her guide me to my feet and back toward our makeshift wedding reception. It was all either of us wanted, anyway. A small party with family and close friends. It was short notice as far as weddings go, anyway, so a barbeque on the beach was easier to pull together than something fancy.

It was my idea to seal the deal. A couple months ago, when the cabin was little more than framing and a foundation, we sent the girls on a playdate to a neighbor’s house one day so we could finish the roof without having to worry about them getting into trouble on the ground. We finished earlier than expected, in the early afternoon. I was sore and ready to call it a day, but Jo decided then was a good time to install the treads and risers on the stairs up to the loft that would contain the girls’ bedrooms.

“Come on, it’ll be one more thing finished,” she said. “One less thing to do later with kids in tow.” She was right, of course. Even when the girls were on their best behavior, having to keep an eye on them slowed us down a lot. So I stuck around and shuttled the boards between the tablesaw and staircase as she cut them. When she finished, we removed our earmuffs and carried the last of the lumber over together.

“This was a good idea,” I admitted. “It’s one step closer to having our first house.”

Johanna squinted as she pulled her goggles off, sawdust speckling her dark furrowed eyebrows. “We’ve been living together in the old house for nine years.”

“But you already lived there.” Johanna’s expression did not change. It crossed my mind that perhaps the rules were different in Seven. “In Twelve, getting a new house together is a big deal because they’d only assign you one once you got married,” I explained. “And you do the toasting and everything the first night. There’s a song they sing when you cross the threshold. The house is a big part of it.”

Laying her load down, Johanna concluded, “So a house feels romantic to you, huh?”

“I guess, yeah,” I mumbled, directing my blush to the floor as I put down the last armful of wood. I didn’t know how to tell her I wanted to do all those things, make the house feel like a home, because it felt kind of silly. But I tried nonetheless. “Maybe we should make it official,” I suggested as I stood up. “When we move in.”

Cynical laughter burst from Johanna’s lips, making me tense up immediately. Leaning back against the side of the staircase, she shook her head. “You never disappoint, do you, Everdeen?” When I stared at her blankly, she spelled out, “That’s the least romantic marriage proposal I’ve heard in my life.”

“It was more of a suggestion than a proposal,” I retorted. As Johanna tipped her head to look me over, I sighed and shoved my hands in my pockets. She had a point. “Sorry. I just… didn't know if you’d want to.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

With a nonchalant shrug, I mumbled, “You’ve never asked me.”

One hand rubbing her brow caked with sweat and sawdust, Johanna groaned loudly. “Sometimes liking women gets so fucking complicated,” she groused. “Whose job is it to propose? To lift the heavy shit and open jars?”

“We both lift heavy shit,” I pointed out, slightly offended at the implication that we couldn’t. Looking back, that’s not what she meant, but that’s how I took it at the time. But not wanting to start a fight, I backed off and teased her, “And I open the jars because you have puny hands.”

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean that literally,” spouted Johanna, rolling her eyes. “I meant that at least with guys you can expect them to do certain shit. Like nut up and actually propose like a grown man.”

Ice shot through my veins, stiffening my posture and making my voice go cold. “Well, it’s not too late, Johanna. If you want a grown man with nuts to propose and knock you up for free, I’m sure you could find plenty of takers.”

I started to stride away, but stopped at the edge of the foundation because I knew I was overreacting and running off would only prolong the fight. Opting instead to boot away a stray pine cone to expel some residual anger, I sighed out the rest and sat down, planting my elbows on my knees and my feet on the ground inches below the concrete lip.

It was a few moments before I heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Easing herself down beside me, Johanna mirrored my position looking straight ahead. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it that way.”

“I know,” I admitted. “Sometimes I just feel like I’m not enough for you.”

“Look, I don't need a man. You know that,” she told me. “Really, I don't need anyone. And I like it that way.” As that punch to the gut popped a tiny breath out of my lungs, she was already taking my hand. Giving it a squeeze, she assured me, “I’m with you because I want to be. And I’m not going to leave.”

Initially I didn’t react, wondering instead why she would want to be with me. But by then I knew better than to voice that insecurity aloud, so I said nothing until Johanna turned her head and laid a kiss on my cheek. Suddenly struggling to suppress a smile, I asked, “Not tired of me yet?”

“Never.” As she released my hand, her weight shifted, I assumed to stand up. Before I realized what was actually happening, she was facing me, one knee in the dirt. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, ever,” she began. “I love you in a way I never knew was possible. And I don't want to spend one day of my life without you.” Holding my wide, shellshocked eyes, she asked, “Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?”

In that moment, I couldn’t help but recall Peeta’s flowery, dramatic marriage proposal onstage in the Capitol. I liked Johanna’s much better. Short and sincere and, most importantly, from her. Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded. “Yes. Yes, please.” Grabbing onto her shirt, I drew her in for a kiss.

Johanna wiggled closer as the kiss deepened, and I parted my knees to accommodate her. As we broke for air, I panted, “Good thing you asked. You’re better with words.”

With a boastful wink, she told me, “I know.” Having no room for indignance in my emotional state at the time, all I did was wrap her up in a hug. A tight one that I hoped conveyed how much I reciprocated those words. How unwilling I was to ever let her go.

***

The scent of champagne fills the air as we pass the bottle around the table for the second time. Hardly a fan of the taste or the dizzy feeling alcohol gives me, I am partaking only in the sparkling apple juice that Haymitch and the kids are drinking. We are all crowded around the table, a dark-stained oak creation that Johanna crafted from leftover building supplies. Effie is probably internally chastising her for not choosing mahogany.

“You gotta have champagne on your wedding day,” Johanna urges me, again offering me the bottle. “It’s tradition.”

“Fine, for the next toast,” I relent. “And only a sip.”

“Wimp,” she teases, plunking it down on the table.

“Okay, my turn,” announces Haymitch, rapping on the table to silence the chatter. His enthusiasm surprises me, as his main objection to acting as my witness was having to come up with nice things to say about either of us. I offered the honor to Gale first, but of course he was conveniently unable to attend.

“I hated both of you when I first met you, but you grew on me,” begins Haymitch. “Like cancer.” So much for nice things. Oh well, Annie had plenty nice to say in her speech. Haymitch waxes on awhile, regaling us with various stories of mentoring with Jo, of trying to coach me for my first interview. Effie rolls her eyes at that, certainly recalling trying to teach me to walk in heels. Finally, he moves on to the two of us together. Our chemistry, our fights. “But the moment I knew you two would last, it was the morning of the fire at the mansion,” he says. “You’d had a nasty argument the day before, but when I went in to check on Katniss, Johanna was there. Comforting her after her nightmares.”

Jo’s arm circles around my waist and she rests her head on my shoulder as I wrap my arm around both of hers. “Katniss, I know I said the two of you was… _messed_ up,” concludes Haymitch, pointedly censoring the quote for young ears, “and I was right. But it's the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.” He lifts his glass. “Cheers to that.”

Next up is my mother, and true to my word, I splash a little champagne in my glass. Mom has plenty to say about watching us grow as a couple and as people, though she admits she found Johanna a little rough around the edges - yet charming - when they met. “In the end, though, I could not have asked for a more perfect person for my daughter, or a better mother to my grandchildren.”

Exclamations of adoration fill the air, but then something clicks in my head. “Hey!” I protest. “What about me?”

Grinning and pointedly ignoring my question, Mom raises her glass. “To the bride and bride!”

As everyone refills, I slip away for a moment to come up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. When she turns around, I catch her off guard by wrapping her in my arms. As she relaxes, I whisper, “Thank you, Mom.”

“I love you,” she murmurs into my shoulder, holding me tight.

Eyes shutting of their own volition, I give her a squeeze. “I love you too.”

Once the speeches conclude, Jo and I add a bit of wood to the fireplace and light the tinder I laid out earlier. As is tradition back home, my mother provides us with a stick and a piece of bread. Skewering the bread on the stick, I turn to Jo, who’s squatting beside me. “Ready?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

She smiles and covers my hand with hers. “So ready.”

Together we extend the stick into the fireplace, turning it in our grip to toast the bread evenly. The room falls silent, revering the meaningful moment. When the bread is golden brown, I pull it out and wiggle it from the stick. Each of us grabbing a side, we split the toast down the middle. Most couples just eat their own half, but Jo and I conspired ahead of time. As we reach out and stuff our pieces in each other’s mouths, the house erupts in cheers and wolf whistles.

I can’t help it, I laugh around the mouthful of bread, so happy in this moment. Johanna is laughing as well, and as I swallow I lean in and grab the back of her neck, drawing her in for a kiss. The cheers grow and my eyes fall shut as Jo deepens the kiss. When we pull apart, they flutter open again, taking in the firelight reflected in her eyes. The eyes of my wife. The marriage has been official since we signed the papers this afternoon, but it didn’t feel so until this very moment. Traditions run deep. Sighing contentedly, I rest my forehead against hers. She’s mine. Forever.

It’s quite the chore, dragging our kids out of the house as everyone starts to pack up. They’ve seen their rooms and are excited to move in. “No, we have to give Mommy and Mama their first night together in the new house,” insists my mother, who was gracious enough to stay with them in the rental house for the night.

“But why?” whines Willow.

While Mom tells her it’s just more traditions, Johanna puts her lips to my ear. “So we can christen the whole place,” she whispers, instantly adding a dust of red to my cheeks. “Not like we’ll have that chance ever again.”

It’s true. Kids are too sneaky. One time, Willow got up in the middle of the night and caught me kneeling in front of the couch, thanking a pregnant Johanna in the manner I had agreed to. Neither of us noticed her standing at the top of the stairs until she very loudly asked me why I was kissing Mommy’s privates. Shooting to my feet, I hustled her back to bed and brushed off her questions while Johanna just about died of laughter. Meanwhile, I just about died of embarrassment. Will was probably too young to remember, but that was the last time I consented to fooling around outside the bedroom with kids in the house.

Despite Johanna’s suggestion, once we’re finally alone, the first thing we do is fall against each other and share a big long hug. “What a day,” I groan, prompting her to rub her hands soothingly up and down my back.

“Mm. You okay, Everdeen? You gonna live?” When I pull back enough to squint at her, Jo realizes her error and laughs sheepishly. “I mean-”

“It’s okay,” I interject. “You can still call me that.”

Tilting her head, she asks, “Having second thoughts about taking my name?”

“No,” I assure her. “But I’m used to it as a pet name. Besides, ‘Everdeen’ is better than ‘brainless.’” Johanna laughs again and I cup her cheek, feeling the upturn of her lips against my palm. “We did it,” I say. She cocks an eyebrow, so I elaborate, “We built a house. A life.”

“We’re far from done,” declares Johanna, snaking her arms around my neck. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a long ways to go, yet.”

“Together,” I breathe.

Smirking, Johanna pushes onto her toes to speak right into my ear. “Yeah,” she says, giving my earlobe a teasing little flick of her tongue that sparks my libido instantaneously. “Together.”

As soon as I make contact with her twinkling eyes, I surge forward to connect our lips. Growling into the kiss, I back her against the table. Planting my hand atop the thick oak top, I warn her, “Hope you made this table sturdy, Mason.”

“Sure did,” she boasts. “I knew you’d want to test it out.”

Grabbing behind her thighs, I boost her up onto the tabletop before slipping my hands under her shirt to glide my palms along her waist. As Johanna plunges her tongue into my mouth and locks her legs around my hips, I pull my hands right back to frantically unzip her shorts. Reaching in, I gasp at the feel of her warm folds, begin to brush my fingers back and forth over her clit. Her breath catches repeatedly at the teasing touches, but she doesn’t hurry me. I move on quickly anyway, pushing my hand further to reach her entrance. She’s just starting to get wet, but I use what’s there. As I drag my lubed fingers back over her clit, she shudders and groans into the air.

“You feel so good, baby,” I breathe, making her whimper. Nabbing the hem of her t-shirt with my free hand, I drag it up her body until she takes over, spiking it on the floor. I quickly unfasten her bra, letting it fall to the tabletop. Hand on her lower back, I drag my lips down her neck. Johanna, however, is preoccupied shuffling her hips, trying to work her shorts and underwear over her ass. Not wanting to stop what I’m doing, I let her finish the job, kicking them over her ankles and to the ground. With quivering lips, she spreads her legs wide. I know what she wants.

Back arching, Johanna emits a delicious moan as I slide my fingers deep inside her, stretching and moving them to touch every inch of her. Panting with every thrust, she starts rocking her hips in unison with my hand. After giving her nipple a suckle, I continue to kiss my way down her torso, shifting my weight so I can get to my knees. But I don’t get far before her fingers wind in my hair and she yanks me back up, her eyes wild and wanting.

“No,” she demands with all the authority she can muster, which isn’t much in her desperate state. “Stay.” Jo releases my hair to free up both hands so she can work my shirt off, and I reluctantly remove my hand just long enough for her to dispose of it. My bra follows almost immediately, then she draws me closer, pressing our skin together as she wraps all her limbs around me. Our ragged breathing echoes in each other’s ears as I brace my wrist against my pubic bone and start pumping with my hips. My free hand claws at her lower back as her pleasure builds and builds, finally culminating with shuddering hips and a piercing squeal in my ear. It quiets to moans and gasps as she rides it out and I start to bring her down.

Letting her head fall forward, Johanna slumps against me, trying to catch her breath. When she’s recovered enough to look up, her pupils are blown, strands of hair plastered against her forehead. Haymitch’s characterization of us easily works for her, too. A beautiful mess, indeed.

“I love you,” I breathe, sweeping the hair from her brow then pressing my lips to it. How true that is, I’m not even sure I’m capable of expressing. I did my best earlier today, when I vowed to love, cherish, and yes, support her. For all the days of my life. I meant it. I’ll love her until the day I die. I’ll love her from beyond the grave.

“Love you too, brainless,” she whispers. Laughing even before I give her a playful glare, she hops down from the table and immediately sets to undoing my pants. The rest of my garments are on the floor in a flash, and once I kick them aside, she starts walking me backward into the house. Away from the kitchen, which I’d assumed would be our next stop.

“Bedroom?” I ask between kisses, furrowing my brow. So much for christening the whole place.

“Floor,” she scoffs, steering me back into the living room. Her eyes beckoning me downward, I detach long enough to sit down beside the hearth. Kneeling astride my legs, my grinning wife forces me down with her body, hands already roaming over my breasts and stomach. Attaching her lips to my neck, she sucks hard and digs her teeth in, claiming me. Declaring that she owns every inch of my body, every molecule of my being.

Our kisses and touches grow heated, sparking an inferno that contrasts the dwindling firelight playing on our bare skin. Soon, the flames will die. And one day, so will we. But this spark, our love, it will never die. The fire will burn forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end, folks. Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, it took a long time to complete but only because it was such a labor of love. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating this content to express my many Joniss feels and headcanons.
> 
> Thanks once more to District 7 Profanity for all your help and suggestions and beta reads over the last 2+ years. Thank you for your abundant patience and for continually pushing me to keep increasing the quality of my work. It wasn't always pleasant, but you have made me a better writer. This fic would not be nearly as good as it is if not for you and your influence and the hours of work you put into it.
> 
> You all can continue to find my work on FFN and the AO3 - I have several one shots and a couple ongoing fics up on those sites. I also have a cute little babysitter AU that is currently only on Tumblr, and I will eventually update that as well. Feel free to message me there or leave comments/reviews on the sites, I love to hear what people connect with in my fics and to nerd out to Joniss in general. Thanks once more for your readership and all the encouragement via comments and reviews, faves and follows, kudos, and messages. Being able to share this work and inspire new content makes it so worthwhile.


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